Candlelight Masterpiece
by lyric
Summary: AU, based on the life of the painter, Caravaggio. Heero offers to paint Trowa, a gypsy.
1. Candlelight Masterpiece 1

He stood in his studio, chocolate bangs hanging limply in his eyes. He didn't care enough to shove them away from his eyes, because they'd ultimately return again. The room was dark, as it usually was. He liked the darkness. It was companionable.  
  
The rain was falling pretty heavily, fat drops of rain hitting the windows like a war drum, keeping time for the marchers. //Kind of like my life now//, he thought. //My life is like an army. Always at arms. Always at another's will. Never at my own. Never by my own choice.//  
  
He continued to watch the rain through his bangs. The moon cast intricate shadows against the random objects in his room, the lightening causing the room to dance for that split second of brilliance.  
  
Looking down at the hustle and bustle of the city, he saw the horses trotting miserably through the damp weather. He heard the sound of the rain on carriage roofs, like the thunder that resonated throughout his studio. He saw the rickety carriage wheels travel along the cobblestone streets, a familiar song he fell asleep to at night, when all was quiet.  
  
All was tranquil and comforting. The darkness. The rain. The song of the cobblestones.  
  
"Mr. Yuy?"  
  
Heero Yuy wanted to kill his butler for disrupting his peace, but instead, he put on an indistinguishable façade. "Yes, Sebastian?"  
  
"Your carriage is waiting, sir."  
  
"Thank you, Sebastian."  
  
Heero waited until Sebastian had quietly closed the door before taking his gaze off the window. He stepped forward, in front of a covered canvas. He gingerly fingered the cloth with the pads of his fingers, as if it were holy. Pure, like the whiteness of the sheet that covered the key to his life.  
  
"Come on, lovely." His whisper filled only the small studio and the voice was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Heero carefully picked up the painting, letting it fall into his outstretched arms. "It's time expose yourself."  
  
The painting, carried under one arm, was taken to the carriage awaiting Heero downstairs on the singing streets. Heero carefully and quickly loaded the painting into the carriage, settling it snugly between the side of the carriage and his right leg. He climbed in, Sebastian closing the door behind him.  
  
"We're to got to Madame Bounderby's house, correct, Mr. Yuy?" Sebastian  
  
inquired, taking his seat in the drivers seat in front of Heero.  
  
"Yes. Quickly, now. I don't want you to be out in the rain for long." Heero sat back, his arm resting against the carriage door.  
  
"No, sir, I'll be fine. It'll take only five minutes or so, if Lucy cooperates." The aged man chuckled to himself; Heero felt a small jerk as Lucy began to pull the carriage, the song of the cobblestones filling his ears once more.  
  
It was hypnotic, and Heero soon felt sleepy. He let his head rest against the side of the carriage, and got a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the window.  
  
He was only twenty-six. But he looked fifty years older, in his point of view. His eyes were a dull shade of blue, the circles underneath them an even darker shade. Fine lines appeared at his eyes, accentuating their exhaustion and fatigue. However, a firm brow highlighted his eyes, making him appear stern, powerful. He liked that. But as authoritative as he thought he looked, the pallor of his face couldn't hide how poorly he chose to live.  
  
//It's almost transparent//, he thought, touching the skin on his face with the brush of his finger.  
  
The carriage came to a stop, the door opposite the side he leaned against opened shortly. Sebastian's warm, becoming face smiled tenderly at Heero.  
  
"Good luck, Mr. Yuy," said Sebastian. "It appears they're waiting for you. Would you like for me to wait for your return?"  
  
Heero shook his head. "Don't bother, Sebastian. Just go home, it's alright." Heero smiled. "I'll walk."  
  
"But sir?! In the rain?!"  
  
"Well, hopefully, by the time I get out of here, it'll be clear enough to get home safely." Heero nodded. "Thanks for your concern, though, Sebastian. Sometimes, I think you're the only real friend I've got around here."  
  
Sebastian smiled and motioned to Heero towards the large steps to the house of Madame Alexandra Bounderby. Heero nodded his thanks, and he wrapped the painting in his arms, jumping out of the carriage and taking the steps two at a time to the large double doors that awaited him. A butler or servant of some kind motioned him in hastily. He was immediately met by Madame Bounderby's plump, cheerful face. A crowd of patient guests of the Bounderby's house greeted Heero with sighs of admiration and respect.  
  
"Good evening, Mr. Yuy!" she greeted heartily. "You've arrived just in time!" She pointed to the bundle under Heero's arm. "Is this what we've all been waiting for?"  
  
"Indeed," said Heero. He was then lead to an exquisite staircase, one large enough to accommodate thirteen people at least side by side. Halfway up to the second floor, a platform ended the single staircase and branched off into two separate staircases. It was on the platform where Heero stood uncomfortably next to the over-the-top Madame Bounderby. The painting was taken out of his hands, and placed, still covered, on a stand left bare for this purpose alone.  
  
"Ladies and gentleman!" Madame Bounderby announced rather loudly. "The moment you've all been waiting for! I have asked the courteous Mr. Yuy to paint me a masterpiece! And here it is, for you, my honored guests, to see in a private showing at my home! Thank you all for coming to this special occasion! Barnard, would you do the honors?"  
  
Heero looked to his left and saw a tall, stately man reach underneath the cloth that covered the portrait. Heero supposed it was just another butler. The painting was then revealed.  
  
It was a landscape; Heero had taken almost five months to complete it. It was painted on Mill Lake pond, three miles west of the city. It was a calm, natural place of beauty that Heero admired for its lack of pretension. It was unaffected by the changing times. A field of tall, yellow grass swayed to the nameless rhythm of the wind. Heero captured each blade of grass in its purest form, against a sky of blues, purples, and pinks. Like the clouds became the cotton candy found at street side shows and spilled a pinkish orange glaze over everything. It was beautiful.  
  
//However//, thought Heero, //the painting doesn't capture a fraction of it's beauty.//  
  
There were pleased gasps and nods of approval followed by a resounding applause that filled the room with harsh, sharp noise. Heero could only smile and nod politely back.  
  
//I have to get out of here.//  
  
"Your payment, sir."  
  
Heero turned towards the voice behind him, and found the voice's owner to be Barnard. A small envelope was thrust in Heero's hand, and he pocketed it quickly.  
  
The applause had died down, enough for Madame Bounderby to speak. "Mr. Yuy, do you have any words you'd like to share with us?"  
  
Heero smiled courteously. "Actually, Madame Bounderby, it's time for me to go. I have a busy day tomorrow, with yet another project on hand."  
  
"So soon?" said Madame Bounderby, feigning disappointment, as Heero felt. Well, I imagine a well-renowned artist such as yourself would indeed have much to do!" She embraced Heero rather un-lovingly. It was one of those embraces that were more like intimate pats on the back; the kind that Heero absolutely despised.  
  
"Thank you for your hospitality, and for this opportunity, Madame Bounderby," thanked Heero. "But I really must be going."  
  
"Of course! I wouldn't keep you trapped here, sir!" Madame Bounderby laughed wildly, like a whooping crane; also something that Heero disliked. Forced laughter. It was disgusting.  
  
Heero exited as quickly as he could, making his way through looming bachelorettes and well-to-do white collared men that made their way into business through their equally well-to-do white collared fathers.  
  
"Very good work." "I say, it's simply marvelous!" "Oh, Mr. Yuy, you'll have to get in touch with me sometime!"  
  
It was all empty.  
  
He made his way outside, the rain reduced to a slight drizzle that made the cobblestones of the streets gleam silver in the pale moonlight.  
  
He wished he was like the moon. Belonging to no one, yet pleasing a world of night-time travelers and late-night dreamers.  
  
The streets were quiet; it was around nine o' clock and everyone was in their houses by now, safe from the rain, the cold, and the darkness that Heero ran to. The displeasure he felt overcame any fright from the harshness of night.  
  
//Are you happy, Heero?// he asked himself. //Are you happy now, working for others? Others who don't give a damn about painting, only the fact that it's worth something in a couple of decades? Your work isn't a treasure; now, it's just a priceless heirloom to be passed through dozens of generations, so that each in turn can say, "look at how rich I am!" Do you like your painting to have no meaning? Because that's what it's damn well become.//  
  
Heero sighed and began his walk back home. It wouldn't take too long, and the moon would light his way home.  
  
He walked past several alleyways and back street, taking care to watch over his shoulder for any would-be attackers. He could defend himself, he was sure; but surprise was an ultimate tactic.  
  
Passing by another back street, he came upon a blazing fire in the distance. Curious, but cautious, he quietly made his way down the small, narrow path, careful to recall his way back to the main road.  
  
It was a street show. Gypsies and the sort. Condemned by everyday society, but they never failed to fascinate. Contortionists, fire-breathers, tightrope walkers, acrobats. It was a stage of natural, human beauty, beauty not created, but generated from what was available-the human body.  
  
Several acts were going on at once, and Heero passed them all casually, smiling every now and then to himself; a young girl cartwheeling through the air with ease, a man walking across burning coals with a large toothy grin on his face, a woman dancing along a wooden plank thirty feet in the air.  
  
He was just about to exit the backstreet and head on back to the main road, when a figure in the shadows caught his eye. He stood in the shadows of the back alley and gazed at the figure through the darkness.  
  
The figure's outline was hard to define, but Heero noticed right away that the figure's torso was exposed; the rippling muscles of the figure's shoulders, back, and arms were defined beautifully against night's curtain. He could make out the figure's profile-a strong jaw, a determined nose, long, effeminate eyelashes.  
  
What caught Heero's attention was the gleam in the figure's eyes. How, when everything else was so shady and dim, the figure's eyes sparkled and glowed an eerie, but fascinating jade within the darkness. They shone like the candles inside Heero's studio at night, when hit by inspiration and money for candles had to be spared. A single flame-  
  
A fervor.  
  
A passion.  
  
Suddenly, the emerald gaze lay on Heero, and Heero shifted his eyes away uncomfortably.  
  
"Are you lost?" said the voice of the figure, a gutteral growl, a song more mesmerizing than that of horse hooves and carriage wheels on cobblestones. "The main road is just up ahead."  
  
"I'm not lost," said Heero.  
  
"That's good." The figure turned his back towards Heero. The muscles were chiseled into the figure's back, and the light played off them nicely, reflecting in Heero's eyes. "Well, then, are you enjoying the show?" the figure asked.  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
Heero didn't know what came over him at the moment, but a sudden rush of inspiration, spirit, and hope flashed before his eyes.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
The figure turned towards Heero again. "Yes?"  
  
"May I ask your name?"  
  
The figure smiled, and stepped out of the light. A figure of a god was revealed. Sweat glistened his chest and stomach, veins protruding from the pressure of muscles in his arms. A piercing gaze penetrated Heero's train of thought. "It's Trowa. Trowa Barton."  
  
Heero swallowed. "Trowa Barton. My name is Heero Yuy." When Heero got no sign of recognition, he continued, elated and frightened simultaneously. "May I have the honor...of painting you?"  
  
--to be continued-- 


	2. Candlelight Masterpiece 2

Trowa stood motionless, his eyes blank yet still a brilliant green set against the darkness of the night. "You want to...what?"  
  
"Paint you." Heero deadpanned the words that he immediately regretted saying as soon as they'd flown out of his mouth ever so inexpectantly. //Why the hell did you say that?// he cursed to himself. //Now he thinks you're a freak.//  
  
"I'd like to paint you," Heero repeated, quietly. His voice was throaty and harsh, like the wind that had started to pick up with the rain, the bits of drizzle biting at their faces.  
  
Trowa paused as if in thought. "Why would you want to paint me?" he asked, oblivious. As if the concept frightened him, he crossed his arms across his chest, attempting to hide his body. He stepped back a little into the shadows.  
  
"I didn't mean to intimidate you," said Heero, honestly. "I just think that." //You're beautiful, you're stunning, you're radiant, you are meant to be painted to treasure forever permenantly on canvas...painted with my hands.//  
  
"I just think that you're an interesting subject. A side show gypsy-it's something I've never thought of doing before."  
  
Trowa took another moment to think, his brow furrowing above dark, intense emerald eyes. "I'd do it. But the show is leaving town in three days. I have to go with them, or else I'm out of what little money I get. From asserbyers, like yourself, I get hardly enough to feed my sister and I."  
  
"I would offer you money, of course," Heero said quickly, then regaining his composure just as quick. //Why are you acting this way? Don't sound desperate. You're not. You're not desperate.// "I'd pay you-for giving up your time to pose, I mean."  
  
Trowa considered this proposal, then stepped forward a bit. "About how much money would we be dealing with here?"  
  
//Didn't think about this one, did you, Yuy?// thought Heero. "Much more than you make here." Heero reached into his coat pocket and fingered a few bills he had stashed away. He offered the money to Trowa; Trowa looked at it as if it were a poisonous snake. "Here's for the first night. I have a spare bedroom in my studio; it's several blocks away from here, but if we walk quickly we can make it in less than an hour." Taking a deep breath, Heero reached out to grasp one of Trowa's fragile, delicate hands, reveling in the feel of soft, creamy skin between his calloused fingers. Heero planted the money in Trowa's open palm, and closed each slender digit around the money. "It's yours, if you'd like it."  
  
Trowa looked down at his hand, holding more money than he'd ever held in his hand before; more money than his whole family had ever had before his parents had left with a wandering gypsy troupe and left his sister and him alone with much less money than that which he was holding at the moment. His eyes locked with prussian blue ones, which looked for something beyond a painting, something beyond a few days' time.  
  
"I'll go," he agreed, his voice still not rising above a hoarse rumble, like that of the thunder which continued to make itself heard, even though the rain was slowly letting up. "Only if my sister comes as well."  
  
Heero considered this. He'd never expected another person to come along; but he was desperate. Very desperate. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he would do anything for a few precious moments with this man who was merely a precocious boy to the world.  
  
"Of course," said Heero.  
  
"I'll go tell Catherine and get my things. I'll meet you on the main road up ahead." He motioned up the back alley and towards the main road. Heero turned breifly to acknowledge their meeting place, but when he turned around again, the quiet, abstruse boy was gone.  
  
//Christ, Yuy, what are you getting yourself into? This is absurd. You just found out his name less than five minutes ago.and now you're having him stay under your roof? He's a gypsy, for God's sake; you'll wake up tomorrow morning and your whole studio will be barren except for your socks and your mattress. You know that better than anyone...anyone at the Bounderbys'...//  
  
As much as Heero tried to convince himself what a rash decision he had made, he couldn't help but feel intrigued by Trowa's beauty. His charisma. His seclusion.  
  
Heero walked up to the main street, and awaited for Trowa to appear.  
  
----------  
  
"No, Trowa, you're being absurd. This is the most irrational,  
  
preposterous idea you've ever had."  
  
Trowa watched his sister in the tent they kept up to shelter all the traveling gypsies in their troupe, the people that had taken care of them since they were children. The familiar smell of burning wood, the familiar acts all taking place before him as they did every night, yet never failed to be magical with each sighting-he'd have to miss these things. Perhaps Catherine was correct; he was being absurd.  
  
But the money. They needed the money. Ever since their parents had left them alone, money had always been, and would always be a problem in their lives. He'd always taken care of his sister; given her the last piece of bread, given her the last sip of milk, given her the driest spot underneath the tent while he'd let the drops of rain splatter against his forehead as he tried to sleep. The money would be a huge help. And if what Mr. Yuy had put in his hand outside the tent was just his pocket change...Trowa's eyes went wide with thoughts as to how much he might receive next.  
  
"But Catherine, look!" He thrust out his hand, showing the crumpled paper money Heero had given him and that he had grasped to tightly as to not fly away. Catherine immediately became quiet, and looked at the money in her brother's hand. She couldn't mask her pleased astonishment, but kept her mouth shut and her brow firm.  
  
"Trowa, we can't leave these people. We've been with them our whole lives; how will we explain to them why we're not going with them? We may never see them again!"  
  
"We won't HAVE to, Catherine. See this?" He thrust his hand towards her again. "This was in his coat pocket. Imagine what he's got for us to offer." He took his sister's hand and cupped them in his own. "Listen, I know it'll be hard for us to separate. But for once, look where we'll be; we'll have a roof over our heads. A solid roof, not this wretched tent. We can eat until food comes out our ears with this kind of money, Catherine. How can we pass this up? All I have to do is sit still for a little bit. And get this."  
  
Catherine hesitated. She picked up a single bill, manipulating it gingerly as if a holy manuscript. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. "We'll go. Get your things; show me where this Mr. Yuy is."  
  
Trowa embraced his sister warmly, tightly. "Thank you, Catherine. Go on now and say good-bye to our old life." He held up the money proudly in his hand. "I'll gather things for our new one."  
  
Catherine smiled a small, frail smile that conveyed neither happiness nor sadness before exiting the tent and running towards the crowd.  
  
----------  
  
"This is where you'll sleep."  
  
Heero pointed out the large queen sized bed in the guest bedroom of his studio. The girl Catherine ran her hands lightly over the bedspread, than took her hand away, as if it was too pure to touch. Trowa peered around the room curiously, in awe that such luxury existed.  
  
"If you go through the door, the kitchen is to your left; feel free to eat as much as you'd like. To the right is my office; it's also where I sleep. Please, if you need anything, come knock on my door." Heero stood awkwardly; he'd never had guests before in his house, and he wasn't quite sure how hospitable he was being.  
  
"Thank you," Trowa whispered in his soft mumured tone that was even less audible in the confinements of the bedroom.  
  
"I'll let both of you go to bed. I'll retire myself; I think it's been quite a night for all of us." Heero nodded before stepping out of the room quickly and shutting the door behind him.  
  
He leaned his back agasint the door, unable to hear the whispered conversations of the siblings. Yet, he could still hear the tones and pitches of Trowa's voice; never above a whisper, always so subdued, soothing. Heero closed his eyes and images of Trowa flooded his mind; the sweat-slicked chest, the straining muscles, the defiant chin, the troubled brow; and most of all, the piercing eyes.  
  
//I have to stop thinking about him.// Heero quickly shook his head and walked into his bedroom to prepare for tomorrow's projects.  
  
----------  
  
Later that night, Heero crept silently along the wooden floor of his studio to knock on the guest bedroom door. There was no answer.  
  
He opened the door slowly to find a slumbering Catherine, curled up on the bed with her folded hands cradling her head of red curls. On the floor slept Trowa Barton.  
  
A half-bare Trowa Barton.  
  
He lay calm, perhaps in a dream, but he was peaceful when at rest. Heero crouched beside the sleeping Trowa to study the man's features closely. He grabbed a spare sketch pad and charcoal from underneath the bed (he always kept a supply in various anonymous places) and settled beside Trowa to sketch him.  
  
Trowa lay on his side, his chest exposed as well as his tight stomach muscles. A thin sheet Heero had supplied him with for the humid night was wrapped loosely around a small waist and falling over Trowa's slender hip. The shadows cast beautiful shades of grays across Trowa's body, shades that were all captured by Heero's sketch pad. His fingers flew across the paper, sketches coming to life before his eyes, before his conscious took hold.  
  
//This is what I'm missing. This is what it's all about. From this boy...from this man. I'll learn everything I need to know.//  
  
--to be continued-- 


	3. Candlelight Masterpiece 3

It was early morning; Trowa liked to get up early to see the sun as it rose, the sky pink and familiar. He ruffled his hair into place, and got up, slipping on an undershirt over his head and throwing on a pair of tan slacks. Catherine would be asleep for awhile; he didn't know if Heero would be up yet.  
  
He opened the door quietly, so he wouldn't waken Catherine, and he tiptoed to the kitchen, his stomach protesting the lack of solid foods he'd consumed lately.  
  
Trowa stood in the kitchen in front of the ice box. He'd never had an ice box. Let alone an ice box like Heero Yuy's, filled with every delicious food he could think of. He took out a bottle of milk and shut the door to the ice box carefully. He turned around to see an elderly man wearing a suit.  
  
"Oh...pardon me, sir, but may I drink this?" Trowa asked politely.  
  
"Of course, sir," said the old man, warmly and smiling. "Mister Yuy welcomes you to his household. My name is Sebastian Lockley; call me Sebastian, everyone does under this roof."  
  
Trowa couldn't help but smile in return. "Thank you. I-I've just never had this kind of...luxury I suppose, of a glass of milk in the morning."  
  
"And may you have several!" chuckled Sebastian. "Many, and for every morning! We want you to feel like we're hospitable people. Would you like for me to prepare you something to eat this morning, sir? I never get to serve breakfasts to anyone except myself these days."  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Trowa. "And no, sir, the milk will be fine for now."  
  
"Well, if you change your mind, please inform me, and I'll be at your service." Sebastian pulled out a seat from the table and motioned for Trowa to sit down. Trowa sat, a bit uncomfortable with all the attention being spent on him, and he smiled his appreciation. "Anyway, Mister Yuy doesn't awaken until one or two o' clock in the afternoon; he stays awake most nights until the wee hours of the morning. Painting, mostly."  
  
"Why doesn't he paint during the day?" asked Trowa, cradling the mug of milk in his hands. He drank slowly, savoring the rich, creamy flavor he called a delicacy.  
  
"I can't say I know the answer to your question, sir."  
  
"Please, sir, call me Trowa." Trowa wasn't used to the formality presented to him that had changed with the span of a night.  
  
"Not until you stop with the formalities as well, sir." Sebastian winked.  
  
Trowa smiled. "I'm sorry. Sebastian. Please call me Trowa. The formality is just...strange, I suppose. I can honestly say I've never been called `sir' before."  
  
Sebastian nodded, smiling genuinely. "I understand. Now, would you care for some toast? Eggs? Pancakes?"  
  
Trowa shook his head. "No. Thank you, though, for your concern."  
  
"Just call my name, and I'll come to your service, Trowa." Sebastian nodded and left the room, leaving Trowa alone in the kitchen. Along the wall of the kitchen, in front of the table where Trowa sat, was a large window that overlooked the streets below. Trowa gazed down from the third story view, and he viewed people the way he'd never seen them before. The people all looked so small. It was about six-thirty in the morning; not many people were up and running, but those that were walked the streets in a gloomy daze. A few street market areas were beginning to open. Trowa watched the city come to life.  
  
//Yesterday, I was looking up at these buildings, wondering what life was like inside of them,// thought Trowa. //Now...I'm looking from one of those buildings and seeing how insignificant I must have looked...to people like Heero Yuy.//  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Heero awakened at around two-thirty, his hair ruffled and his eyes droopy. He had stayed up until about five o' clock that morning, drawing Trowa, worshipping the body that carried all the angles, textures, and the balance of light and dark that Heero craved.  
  
He closed his eyes and pictured Trowa again, marveling at how the boy seemed to capture his visions every minute.  
  
//What is wrong with me?// thought Heero.  
  
He got up lazily, running his tongue over his teeth and stretching his legs out in front of him. His legs were entangled with the blankets as he climbed out of bed and over to his closet. Not bothering to put on a shirt, he picked up a pair of black slacks, pulling them up over his hips and securing them with three black buttons.  
  
His feet pitter-pattered against the wooden floor in the hallway as Heero made his way to the bathroom for a bath.  
  
"Sebastian!" he called, his voice hoarse and filled with sleep. "Can you have a sandwich ready by the time I'm out of the bath?"  
  
"Certainly, Mister Yuy!" came the response.  
  
"Thank you!" said Heero, and stopped at the hallway closet to get a towel. Holding the towel in one hand and opening the bathroom door to with the other, Heero entered the bathroom with full intention to look his best for his new houseguest.  
  
He ran the bath, letting the towel and his pants fall to the floor. He leaned against the closed door of the bathroom, thinking to himself.  
  
//How will I paint him...what shall I have him wear? He'll look good in a suit...a black one. No...better yet, perhaps just a shirt and tie. On the balcony outside of my room? No. Inside. He needs to be inside. Inside...by the window. By the window will be nice.//  
  
He contemplated his as he turned off the running water, and took the first virgin step into the bath. It was warm and inviting, and he lowered his body into the bathtub with a relaxing sigh.  
  
//I'll finally paint him tonight,// Heero thought, letting his head rest against the side of the tub, the warm water loosening every muscle in his body. //Tonight, I'll create a masterpiece.//  
  
---------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
It was midnight. Heero had told Trowa earlier in the day that Heero was to paint him at midnight that night. He never got to ask Heero why he wanted to begin so late at night, but before he could ask any questions, Heero had walked away, ordering Trowa to take a nap before they began.  
  
So, Trowa had slept for a few hours, and woke to find Catherine asleep on the bed, and a stack of clothes laying next to him on the floor. A note was written on a piece of paper next to the clothes.  
  
"Put these on before you come in. -H."  
  
Trowa shrugged and fingered the fine cotton of the shirt he was to wear, and a dark black tie - he had never worn a tie before in his life.  
  
He slipped one arm into the soft shirt; it felt like clouds brushing up against his roughened skin, skin that was dry and scabrous from the physical demands of gypsy life. His skin was so dark compared to the brilliant white of the shirt, and it fit perfectly against his thin, but agile frame. He shed his own dark brown slacks off his legs and pulled on the pair that Heero had provided, a black pair that was just as well-made as the shirt; soft and probably from a department store. He'd never worn department store clothes; Catherine had always made his clothes for him. Carefully tucking in his shirt and fastening the clasps on his pants, he surveyed himself in the mirror which hung on the far wall across from the bedroom door.  
  
He could pass for a gentleman, if his skin wasn't so dark. He would have to grow a mustache or a beard; it was what all the most honored gentleman of the day had.  
  
Trowa swung the tie around his neck, taking care that the tie fit under his shirt collar, and he realized one large neglected detail.  
  
He couldn't tie a necktie.  
  
Embarrassed, he opened the door to his room and walked down the stairs to Heero's room. He knocked tenderly, and the door was opened a few seconds later to reveal a room filled with candlelight.  
  
The candles, so many in number, flirted with Trowa's eyes, the light flickering against the walls and playing in the shadows, sometimes revealing, sometimes concealing. Draped across one wall were portieres of velvet that hung dramatically against the wall and over the sides of the furnished love seat where Trowa believed he was to sit.  
  
Heero had heard a knock on the door; he had just finished setting up for Trowa's sitting. Trowa was a few minutes late, but no matter. He stood and opened the door.  
  
What Heero saw was beauty he'd never experienced before. Trowa had fixed his hair; the stray strands of before were now hanging rather orderly in his face, which accentuated rather than took away from the radiance of his verdant eyes. The outfit Heero had chosen fit Trowa well, angled in all the right places.  
  
Heero realized that Trowa had asked him a question, and he shook his head. "What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you." He was glad the room was relatively dark, so Trowa couldn't see the blush burning his cheeks.  
  
"I said that I can't tie this." Trowa held the ends of the tie in each of his hands. He fiddled with the ends nervously as he looked away from Heero shyly.  
  
Heero shook his head again, and stepped forward to motion Trowa inside and closed the door. "No problem, we can do without it for now. Follow me."  
  
He led Trowa to the loveseat that Trowa had noted previously.  
  
"Sit," Heero instructed.  
  
Trowa sat.  
  
"Rest your elbow on the arm of the sofa," was the next instruction that Trowa followed. "Lean your hand against your cheek and look to your left. Good. Now cross your right leg over your left, keeping your ankle rested on your knee. Are you comfortable?"  
  
"I suppose so," said Trowa.  
  
"Now listen," said Heero. "I really do need for you to be comfortable because you're going to stay like this for a long time, so, please, tell me now if you're uncomfortable."  
  
"I.I'm fine," Trowa repeated. "It's awkward, but not uncomfortable."  
  
"Well, I guess that's the best we'll do. Can't have you so relaxed you'll fall asleep." Heero stepped backwards as if to mentally photograph the scene before him. Trowa was glad Heero had him posed looking to the side, so he wouldn't have to face Heero's piercing stare.  
  
When satisfied, Heero stepped around a canvas he has set up and sat on a wooden stool, his paint, brushes, and various other materials all scattered haphazardly on an old table that had been around since his parents' painting days. They were both long gone by now; Sebastian was more of a parent than anyone else in his life, in Heero's opinion.  
  
He picked up his paintbrush, and fingered the bristles on the end of the brush. Soft. He peered around the side of the canvas to speak to Trowa.  
  
"You can speak if you'd like. I don't know how good of company I'll be, but you may speak. It gets quiet after a couple hours of this." He tentavily dipped the tip of the brush into a jar of paint, slowly and decisively making each stroke as perfect as the subject in front of him.  
  
"Alright." Trowa was silent for a few moments. He liked it that way, he supposed. He looked around the room. Candlesticks were everywhere; some were about to die out and some looked like this was their first burning, the wax collecting in icicles on the golden candlesticks holders. Most of the candles were white, a sharp contrast to the darkness of the room. A few candles were red, their dripping wax appearing like blood that the hungry candlestick holders drew in.  
  
"Can I ask you something?" Trowa inquired quietly, afraid to break the continued silence, even though Heero had granted him permission to speak.  
  
"Indeed," came a voice behind the canvas.  
  
"Why do you choose to paint at night?"  
  
"I suppose I like the candlelight," was the answer.  
  
"But it changes. Like.the light flickers, so it's inconsistent. Doesn't that...doesn't it mess up your painting?"  
  
Heero shrugged and continued to paint laboriously against the canvas. "I think that's why I like it so much. You're right; the candlelight is fickle. Always changing, never pausing. Similar to life itself. There are many changes that can't be done over again. And these changes are continuous, like how the candles continue to burn. The subject is sitting still, yet there still seems to be movement and motion within the painting."  
  
"Oh, I see."  
  
There was more silence. Trowa observed Heero intently; the way he furrowed his brow in concentration, the way his lips formed a straight line in his seriousness. His penetrating cobalt eyes seemed to burn into the page, much like the candles that continued to waver. Heero was handsome, and Trowa couldn't hide the fact that he was indeed attracted to Heero.  
  
"Have you ever painted a self-portrait?" asked Trowa, his head continuing to face sideways, but his eyes locked onto the canvas that Heero hid behind.  
  
"No."  
  
"Have you considered a self-portrait?"  
  
"No. I'm not fit for painting."  
  
Trowa frowned. "Whyever do you think that?"  
  
"I'm not a proper subject. I don't hold the qualities in a subject I would be fond of."  
  
"Well, how did you choose me? What made me so interesting? If anything, you're a better subject than me."  
  
"You live a life out of the ordinary. Your life is a mystery, an enigma to most. Society tends to look down on you, yet they will not admit their involuntary fascination with people like you."  
  
"You mean gypsies?" Trowa deadpanned. "I don't understand why people look down upon us because of the decision we make about how to live our lives. It's our lives."  
  
"I understand. Which is exactly why I wanted you to pose for me. You aren't ordinary. The reason people don't like the gypsy life is because they haven't experienced it and because it's not the usual way of life. Something out of the ordinary is normally dubbed unacceptable. You must realize this.  
  
"Perhaps by painting you in the clothing of a gentleman, this painting can surpass boundaries and barriers set up by the people that judge before they understand." Heero took his brush and rinsed it in a jar of water, the swishing of the water the only noise that filled the room.  
  
"I suppose," said Trowa. "But even if the people that view this painting see the message, that doesn't mean the next day they'll go up and shake our hands. It's futile in some ways."  
  
"I suppose," Heero echoed, continuing to paint calmly. He looked down at Trowa and noticed that he had moved his hand during their conversation.  
  
"You moved your hand," Heero pointed out. He stood. "I'll fix it."  
  
Trowa was about to move his hand before Heero had suggested fixing it himself. He saw Heero rise, his eyes drinking in the sight of Heero's naked torso. Trowa realized that Heero liked to go around the house shirtless. Needless to say, he didn't mind. Heero approached him and knelt before him, arranging Trowa's fingers and shirtsleeve.  
  
Heero felt a bolt of electricity shoot up his arm with the contact of his body and Trowa's. He hoped the Trowa didn't notice the slight jerk of his hand at that first initial touch.  
  
"There," Heero said, satisfied. He looked up at Trowa, who had an odd look in his brilliant green eyes. There was a question lingering above them, around them, like a thick fog. Trowa turned his head towards the man that knelt before him and looked down as he brushed his lips against the painter's own.  
  
Heero was startled, his eyes opening to the size of saucers as he tasted Trowa's lips for the first time. He looked up at Trowa, the same burning desire he felt in his own eyes showing through. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Trowa's firmly, lovingly, cradling the back of Trowa's head as the gypsy did the same to him. Trowa parted his lips, granting Heero access to his mouth completely, Heero's tongue thoroughly but delicately exploring. They broke away slowly, Heero licking his lips and tasting Trowa's lingering flavor on his lips.  
  
"Open your eyes," said Trowa. "Don't close them."  
  
Heero opened his eyes to see Trowa looking back at him, his gaze still piercing through half-lidded eyes. "I won't," he promised, his eyes mirroring Trowa's as their lips joined again.  
  
Trowa leaned down further to deepen the kiss, his hands resting on Heero's bare, sturdy shoulders. They were slick with a small sheet of sweat, just enough to appear to be glistening in the candlelight which continued to cast odd shadows on both men's bodies.  
  
Trowa felt a slight tug against his waistband, Heero slowly untucking his shirt. He broke the kiss to look down at Heero for some kind of reason, some motive as to why Heero was doing this; perhaps a motive as to why Trowa consented.  
  
"Words can hide the truth, but actions cannot," was the answer. Heero's voice was a small, but powerful whisper as he moved his lips against Trowa's, their breaths intermixing; it was intoxicating, as Trowa's shirt became completely unrestricted from his slacks. Heero worked the shirt over Trowa's head, careful not to hurt Trowa, massaging each portion of skin and muscle as it was revealed to his hungry eyes.  
  
In one swift movement, Heero stood and pulled Trowa to his chest, smashing their lips together. They both sighed simultaneously at the first touch of bare chest to chest, and reveled in the feelings of warm skin. Sweat intermingling, tongues intermingling, hands intermingling; it was pure and virginal.  
  
They spent long extended periods of time like that, exploring each other's bodies and absorbing each other's warmth. It was comforting to Trowa, who had been unattached all his life; always moving from one place to another, never spending time with the people he would like to meet, the people he would like to get to know. It was comforting to Heero, who had chosen to be unattached until he'd found the contentment and solace in the gypsy's burning gaze which continued to set fire to Heero's own eyes.  
  
Slowly, Heero began to undo the clasps that held up Trowa's pants upon his hips. Trowa tensed, then relaxed as Heero cradled and rubbed his back and continued to suckle gently on Trowa's neck. Trowa tilted his head back to expose more of his dark, delicate skin, and Heero took advantage of this, running his tongue and teeth along Trowa's throat while Trowa's pants, completely undone, fell to the floor.  
  
"You are a god," whispered Heero, running his hands down Trowa's exposed hips while grinding their pelvises together. The room was filled with both men's quiet moans and sighs that were quickly muted when their lips met again and again. Heero lifted Trowa easily and laid him on the floor, Trowa's legs parted slightly as Heero leaned over the boy to kiss him savagely and run his hands over the boy's lithe body.  
  
Trowa was drowning in pure, raw pleasure as he felt Heero's calloused fingers against his skin. He lifted his hips to rub against Heero's still covered groin, and he felt his lips and throat vibrate as Heero moaned into his mouth. They broke apart, both panting heavily. Not taking his eyes off of Trowa, as he promised, Heero undid the buttons of his pants and let them slide off of his hips and hit the ground softly. He immediately covered Trowa's body with his own, finally unrestricted by all clothing, two bodies worshipping each other's.  
  
Heero let his hand wander down Trowa's body, first delving into a sharp and elegant collarbone, his lips and tongue taking the place of his hand. He continued to lick and nibble that collarbone as his hand then took to massaging the boy's pectorals and stomach, taking care of the remarkably smooth skin he found there.  
  
He began to run his thumb along the line of pubic hair underneath Trowa's belly button, and he looked up from his ministrations upon Trowa's neck to seek approval from the beautiful figure beneath him. Trowa nodded, repeating his earlier command: "Don't close your eyes."  
  
Heero consented as his fingertips danced along Trowa's erection, Trowa sighing an animalistic guttural noise that further aroused Heero and gave him motivation to go further. Heero grasped Trowa's cock, rubbing his thumb against the sensitive area below the head. Trowa almost closed his eyes, but didn't dare look away, looking up at the strong, picturesque man who kneeled above him, stroking him in the most sensitive, intimate of areas.  
  
Trowa stopped reveling in pleasure long enough to take hold of Heero's arousal as well. Heero's chest fell onto Trowa's, but keeping his lower body raised on his knees, both fondling each other's erections with curiosity and wonderment only found in that first touch. Heero's hips snapped down in a small, jerky thrusting motion completely driven by need. Their screams and sighs were silenced by hungry kisses, tongues searching out answers as they stroked each other hurriedly.  
  
Suddenly, Heero's hand left Trowa's body. Trowa immediately sat up to protest, but jerked back down as soon as he felt the warmth of Heero's mouth on his erection. Trowa opened his mouth to scream, but a hollow nothingness came out, and he looked down to see Heero engulfing his penis, still making eye contact with him. He involuntarily thrust upwards into Heero's solid heat, writing against the velvet draperies that had fallen to the floor, looking down at Heero with desperation and feelings he'd never experienced; feelings he'd never had the time to want to experience. Trowa felt himself spiraling closer and closer to the edge, where he'd dared not step before.  
  
Heero also sensed Trowa coming closer, and he increased suction and speed on Trowa's arousal, never looking away from Trowa's half lidded eyes full of heat and passion. The heat and passion that had died long before was now returning slowly and surely into Heero's life.  
  
Trowa exploded into Heero's mouth, hips jerking up, wanting to be enclosed in the exquisite heat for as long as humanly possible. Heero gagged a little, pulling away a bit and feeling each jet of semen coat his tongue, filling his mouth with richness. Some of it escaped his lips, and dripped down the sides of his mouth, down his chin and onto Trowa's thighs. Trowa continued to scream softly, sobbing as spasm after spasm of sheer pleasure ripped and burned through his veins, down his back, and to his arousal. After the final spurts of bliss subdued, Trowa lay on the ground, tears streaming down his face, hands bloody from scraping the wooden floors, and passion pulsing through his body.  
  
Heero used his hands to collect the ejaculate that had spilled on Trowa's body and lubricated his penis. He looked down at Trowa for approval; Trowa nodded, resting his ankles on Heero's shoulders and pulling his body towards Heero's thick cock.  
  
Heero leaned forward, one hand resting on the floor next to Trowa's shoulder, and one hand guiding his erection to Trowa delicately. He pushed steadily, forcing the head through and forcing Trowa's muscles to tighten uncontrollably to constrain the unnatural invader out. Trowa shook with fear and uncertainty.  
  
"Look at me," commanded Heero. Trowa looked up at Heero, lips trembling, eyes jerking from one side to the other until they finally rested on Heero's own blue gaze. "Relax. As soon as you relax, you can truly feel."  
  
Trowa willed his body to relax, Heero sheathing himself fully into Trowa's constricting chasm. Heero had never been so fully enclosed, so fully wrapped in heat and fervor. He compelled his eyes to stay halfway open as he regarded Trowa's once discomforted face to one of unabashed emotional joy. Trowa felt joy; the joy of being completely filled, the joy of being one with someone in the most intimate way possible.  
  
Heero began to slowly pull out, until the only part of his penis that lingered in Trowa's body was the head. He thrust back in quickly, eliciting a grunt from Heero and a pleased moan from Trowa's lips. Over and over he repeated his pattern, pounding into Trowa's body beneath him while maintaining direct eye contact with the man that writhed and squirmed in delight.  
  
"Oh god, yes. Yes! Heero-Heero-Heero-Heero-Heero-" Trowa called out to Heero like a mantra, Heero complying with Trowa's ever wish, every desperate call of need, of sexual hunger. He memorized and tattooed the location of Trowa's prostate in his memory, brutally hitting it again and again, causing Trowa to cry out in pleasure, sweat dripping off both of their bodies. Heero had never felt such tight heat.  
  
"Oh please, Heero! More...I need more...please! Please!" Trowa wrapped his legs around Heero's waist, pulling him closer, forcing Heero's cock deeper into his body, ultimate pleasure shooting through each of their bodies.  
  
Heero began to moan fully, vocalizing his pleasure with each surge forward, with each mind-blowing thrust into Trowa's wanton, supple body. The candlelight continued to flicker before their eyes, and in their eyes, sparks of lust flashed brightly.  
  
"Please...more...faster, please! I need it...I need it so much..." Trowa  
  
began to sob from pleasure, seizing Heero's shoulders with an iron grip. Heero slammed their bodies together, both on the brink of orgasm. Desire burned in their eyes, and they saw it in each other.  
  
Trowa thought that he was experiencing the ultimate pleasure until he felt Heero reach down and start stroking his cock frantically in large, hurried strokes, bringing him closer and closer to his peak. Without warning, Trowa's back arched off the floor, spraying Heero's hand and chest with ejaculate, not ripping his eyes away from Heero's gaze.  
  
Upon seeing Trowa's climax, Heero then followed, filling the boy with his semen in wave after pleasurable wave, and collapsing onto Trowa's body fully, lips smashing into Trowa's.  
  
They broke the kiss and lay there, Heero's body rising and falling with the heave of Trowa's chest. They lay breathing heavily, eyes clouded, skin slick.  
  
Heero was the first to break the impermeable silence. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned, brushing Trowa's bangs from his face.  
  
Trowa reached up to loosen his grip on Heero's shoulders, letting his hands massage the broad shoulders. "Yes. Are you?"  
  
Heero shifted so that he no longer lay on Trowa, but lay to the man's side and held Trowa's shoulders tightly. "Yes."  
  
They lay there the night, letting the cool night air float through the windows, the candles slowly dying out one by one.  
  
--to be continued-- 


	4. Candlelight Masterpiece 4

Heero awakened on the hard, wooden floor of his studio. He wondered for a few seconds why he was in this particular location, then realizing the extra warmth that lay next to him. He looked down to see Trowa Barton sound asleep, his body bundled and tangled up in the velvet draperies they'd pulled off the walls to cover themselves as they slept.  
  
He admired Trowa's beauty again. The way his slender figure folded into the sheets as he slept, his muscles expanded beneath skin that was smooth and warm in the sunlight that poured from the single window in Heero's studio. His long effeminate eyelashes fluttered, and Heero bent down to kiss Trowa's eyelids. Amazingly, Trowa didn't awaken, and Heero sat up to marvel at Trowa's figure. He breathed to a steady rhythm that Heero listened to closely; it was the music of life.  
  
Heero stood on wobbly knees and peered out the window. He'd never been up this early in his life, never awake to see the sunrise. He witnessed it in all its golden glory, as it stretched across the strong, wide sky. It was comforting; a comfort he hadn't been privy for years. He gazed upon Trowa who lay in a heavy slumber at his feet. Heero glanced at the canvas which still sat upright in front of him.  
  
Heero slid into a pair of pants that lay strewn across the back of the loveseat and walked over to the canvas and sat down slowly, letting his blood circulate before staring at the nearly blank canvas. He decided to start over, to paint over it; before him now was a scene more lovelier than any could be.  
  
//As one sleeps, one is in a state of.sincerity,// thought Heero. //They're unpretentious. Untainted. Pure.//  
  
He ran his fingers through his meddlesome hair, opening his eyes wide in an attempt to stay alert and aware. He was aware of the beauty that slept so soundly before him. He was aware of the temporary light that shone in fuzzy rectangles through the window pane across Trowa's body. He was aware that Trowa might awaken soon; and he began to paint.  
  
Slowly, he picked up a paintbrush, its bristles long and narrow. He rinsed the excess paint that had caked onto the sides of the brush and on the bristles themselves, and watched as the water spiraled into a hazy gray. He dipped the brush into the paint, yellow like the sun, and he made the first virgin strokes onto the canvas.  
  
Soon, the canvas was alight in color, contrast, and light. The figure on the ground slept in a whirlwind of yellows, pinks, and oranges, which contrasted sharply with the darkness of the studio. He depicted Trowa's elegant fingers which gripped the sheet over his body. He established a sense of serenity in Trowa's sleeping state, mixed with a vibrancy found within the sunshine that danced around Trowa's face and eyes. He emphasized the way Trowa's lips curled upwards the tiniest bit as he slept, with a look of contentment and peace only found in sleep.  
  
His fingers, writsts, and arms ghosted across the canvas in a beautiful windstorm of illustration, shaping the beauty of the sight before him like no other could. He found beauty in every line, color, and brush stroke that met the canvas.  
  
//All my life, I've tried again and again to paint life as I knew it, in it's purest form,// thought Heero, as the brush made contact with the canvas again, sending surges of electricity down his spine. //I've wanted to paint something...uncorrupted. And now...life is beginning to paint itself for me, how it wants to be painted. How it wants to be seen, how it wants to be portrayed. I will portray life as we know it. Through this man.//  
  
----------  
  
Heero Yuy was finished.  
  
He sat back to glance over the painting one more time, adding any last finishing touches and, for the first time, finding no complaints. The paint was still drying, the moistness of certain areas shining in the sunlight which had gotten hotter and brighter as the painting was being completed. He stood to close the shutters on the windows, backing away to continue to view his masterpiece.  
  
It was concieted, he knew, to admire one's own painting. But he couldn't help but find nothing in the painting but honesty. Which is what he had meant for his whole life to achieve. Integrity.  
  
He looked down to see Trowa Barton looking up at him with curious, but sleepy eyes.  
  
"Good morning," said Heerp. He knelt to where Trowa lay and kissed the awakening man lightly. He lowered himself to the floor, legs folded beneath each other, back resting against the loveseat.  
  
"Good morning." Trowa inched forward to lean his head and upper torso against Heero's thigh. Heero hooked his arms across the back of Trowa's narrow, but powerful shoulders.  
  
They stayed this way for a while, both taking pleasure in being near one another, of having the other stroke their hair, rub their back, and kiss them softly. Heero was the first to break the silence; they found their conversations to be straight-forward, but concern and tenderness supported every word.  
  
"Are you still tired?" asked Heero.  
  
"A little," said Trowa, burrowing his nose further into Heero's neck. Heero smelled of candle wax, of sweat, and of acrylics; it was an intoxicating combination that was indescribably Heero.  
  
"How long have you been awake?" Trowa asked. Heero reached up with one hand to settle his fingers between the mass of Trowa's light brown hair. He played with the delicate, elegant strands as he spoke softly, afraid to break the morning's serenity.  
  
"Since the sunrise," Heero answered.  
  
Trowa was all of a sudden overcome with sadness. Never once in his life had he missed the sunrise. He speculated the intensity of Heero's effect on him as he rested against Heero's leg.  
  
"I see." He began to play with the loose threads on the cuff of Heero's pant leg, raveling and unraveling them around his fingers.  
  
Heero couldn't help but stifle a yawn. Trowa chuckled underneath his breath.  
  
"You should go back to sleep. You must be tired still." He playfully raised his torso off of Heero's leg and knocked him down to the floor again, pulling Heero on top of him. He softly brushed his lips against Heero's, letting Heero's body absorb into his, their skin warm and inviting to each other.  
  
Heero pressed down onto Trowa's lithe body, indulging with the feel of their skin melting together in the shadows of the studio. "I think I will," he said. "You can go to the kitchen and get something to eat. I won't be painting again until tonight."  
  
Trowa smiled, wrapping his arms around Heero's neck and settling his cheek against Heero's neck as Heero did the same. They breathed in the scents of each other, and sighed contently.  
  
"I would give you all the money I had to stay like this," Heero whispered into Trowa's ear.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Catherine awoke to find the floor empty. Not even a blanket had been laid out, nor a pillow. She sat up in confusion.  
  
//Where is Trowa?// she thought. She looked around once more, and shrugged her shoulders. //Maybe he's up already and put the blankets away. That's Trowa, for you.//  
  
Catherine swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet calloused and bruised from the heavy work she labored to do in the side shows. Stretching her arms over her head, she yawned plentifully and stood on wobbly legs, like a newborn fawn. She giggled to herself, her own morning clumsiness amusing her. She fixed her nightgown so that it looked remotely presentable, and she opened the door slowly to head to the kitchen.  
  
//Trowa's probably in there,// Catherine thought. She stepped into the kitchen only to find Sebastian sitting at the dining table, sipping iced tea, stirring in the sugar slowly.  
  
"Good morning, madam," greeted Sebastian, standing to offer Catherine a seat. She returned the salutation and sat politely, folding her hands in her lap.  
  
"What time is it, Sebastian?" asked Catherine, looking out the window and seeing the sun nearly at its peak.  
  
"It's nearly eleven o' clock, madam," said Sebastian. "May I prepare you something to eat? A bagel and lox, perhaps?"  
  
"Oh, yes, that would be marvelous," answered Catherine. She'd never been waited upon before; it was a strange, but nice feeling of which she knew she shouldn't take advantage. She and Trowa had left a more taxing life- sleeping on the ground underneath a humid tent and eating whatever they could find at local market stands, which was normally more than they could afford.  
  
Catherine glanced around the kitchen, reminding herself of her original intention of going to the kitchen. "Sebastian?" she called.  
  
"Yes, madam?" answered Sebastian, placing a glass of iced tea in front of Catherine. "There's some sugar in the jar in front of you, if you'd like.  
  
"Thank you, Sebastian." She took a few long sips before continuing with her question. "Have you seen Trowa this morning?"  
  
"Come to think of it, madam, I don't think I have," said Sebastian, his back turned towards Catherine as he prepared her meal.  
  
Catherine furrowed her brow. "Well...do you know where he is?" she asked, curiously.  
  
"I believe he is in Mr. Yuy's bedroom."  
  
Now Catherine was really confused. //I wonder...did Trowa ever come to bed? He went to Mr. Yuy's room for the sitting at midnight...did he stay there the whole night?// She shrugged. //Oh, well. He must be tired; sittings take hours, and he must still be sleeping.//  
  
Sebastian bowed as he set Catherine's breakfast on the table, Catherine nodding her thanks. She began to eat in silence, chewing slowly, savoring the flavors she'd never experienced beyond a piece of stale bread and soured butter.  
  
//It must be nice, to be able to live like this,// she thought to herself. Her gaze wandered to the wall of the corridor that led to her room; she could see it from where she sat at the kitchen table. On the wall were numerous photographs of Heero with all sorts of venerable, respected people, presenting them with a painting, she assumed. She noticed that in all the photographs, Heero was not smiling, nor was he frowning; it was an indifference she had never seen depicted so well.  
  
She also noted how handsome Heero was.  
  
The first time she'd seen him as they walked down the damp, cobblestone streets to Heero's house, Catherine had had an instant attraction to the dark, enigmatic artist. His artistry flowered in every part of him; the way he stood, the way he moved his hands as he spoke, the way his eyes darted back and forth around him, as if aware of every movement within a mile radius. His dark brown hair was unruly, but becoming, and shaded his deep blue eyes that Catherine hadn't made contact with once during her stay. But, oh, how she wanted to.  
  
Her heart ached like it had never ached before. She wondered if it was love...then dismissed it. //It's just a silly little crush,// she thought. //And, besides, Catherine, you're a gypsy. The day a nobleman falls for a gypsy is the day...just don't think about it, Catherine.//  
  
She sat back in her chair, thanking Sebastian politely as he took her plate away for her, leaving her half full glass of iced tea on the table. //I wonder if Trowa's enjoying himself too.//  
  
----------  
  
Trowa stood in front of the mirror, dressed in a newly pressed pair of pants and a starched white shirt that tapered to his waist. It was tucked snugly into his pants which showed off the gypsy's long, powerful legs.  
  
"Isn't this a bit...much, Heero?" asked Trowa, fidgeting in his new attire that had come from Heero's own closet. Heero stood behind Trowa in a similar outfit, a pair of black slacks and a white collared shirt. He stood behind Trowa, fixing imaginary wrinkles on Trowa's shirt. He gazed at Trowa in the mirror and smiled lightly.  
  
"No, it's not," said Heero. He kissed the sides of Trowa's throat, and Trowa sighed in contentment.  
  
"I'm not sure what Catherine would think," he said uncertainly. "I mean...she's never seen me in anything like this...these kinds of clothes."  
  
"What do you mean `these kinds of clothes'?" asked Heero, looking up at Trowa in the mirror, his eyes full of concern.  
  
"Well...a nobleman's clothes. Clothes that don't belong to...people like me."  
  
"Well, then I'll have to take her out to get some clothes as well. I suppose I can't pull THEM out of my closet."  
  
Trowa turned to face Heero. "See, that's the thing...our whole lives we've been condemning people like-" Trowa stopped talking abruptly and turned away from Heero, his cheeks flushed.  
  
Heero stepped forward towards Trowa's back, which now faced him. "You mean, people like me?"  
  
Trowa nodded slowly. "I-I'm sorry."  
  
Heero touched Trowa's shoulder, embracing the taller man lightly from behind. "It's fine. I'm not expecting for you to change the views you've had your whole life. I guess...I want you to learn from me the things you haven't learned. You've taught me much, Trowa, and I suppose I'd like to return the favor."  
  
Trowa smiled, leaning back into Heero's warm hug. "Thank you." He turned around again to face Heero, holding a hand in each of his. "But...we mustn't let Catherine know...what happened here."  
  
Heero nodded. "Of course. We'll just say that when you posed for me, you fell asleep, so I let you sleep in my room."  
  
Trowa nodded in return. "Thank you," he repeated. "Well. Let's go, shall we?" He smiled warmly. It was a smile he'd forgotten. An honest smile.  
  
Heero opened the door for Trowa, and they walked side by side to the kitchen where they saw Catherine sitting in a plain blue collared dress in the kitchen. Her jaw dropped to the ground at the sight of her brother.  
  
"Wow, Trowa, you look fabulous!" she said excitedly, getting up immediately to hug him. Trowa embraced her in return, saying his thanks. Catherine then turned to Heero.  
  
//He really cleaned Trowa up,// thought Catherine, taking Heero's hand. //But Heero looks even better than he did before.// She reveled in the warmth of Heero's arms; she'd lacked the intimate touch of a man her whole life; she was ready to experience it with Heero. She nearly giggled with the touch of Heero's lips to her hand. "You look wonderful as well."  
  
Heero smiled at Trowa over Catherine's shoulder. "Well, I hope, with your brother's permission, to take you into the city, and buy you some new dresses, if you'd like."  
  
Catherine pulled away from Heero and glanced at Trowa, who nodded in approval. She hadn't had new clothes for nearly ten years. She embraced Heero lightly, repeating her thanks.  
  
"Thank you...thank you so much." she said, continuing to hold onto Heero.  
  
Trowa saw the sparkle in his sister's eyes. He was so happy that she was, for once in her life, contented. He also felt a sensation in the back of his mind...scratching at a blackboard, rustling a newspaper...it drove him mad.  
  
--to be continued-- 


	5. Candlelight Masterpiece 5

"Catherine, are you ready?"  
  
Catherine heard Heero's voice beckoning her. They were to go to the city today. It would be her first time in public without putting on a show...her first time in a carriage...her first time in a department store...her first time buying clothes instead of making them...  
  
And her first time with any other man other than Trowa.  
  
She had always kept such a close eye on her brother. But when he'd walked into the room yesterday with Heero, in a gentleman's suit...she knew he had grown up before her eyes, and she hadn't even noticed.  
  
"I'll be right out!" Catherine called back, pulling her one and only pair of hose over her slender legs. It was a tannish color that made her legs itch...but no matter. She would be going into the city with Heero Yuy, a refined, respected man of New York. She, a "lowly" gypsy would go where no other of her kind had gone before.  
  
Into the arms of a gentleman.  
  
She stepped outside of her room, dressed in the afore-mentioned hose covered by an ankle length dress that swept the floor with it's dusty rose colour. It complimented her auburn hair, and her green eyes sparkled with excitement. She'd put her hair up into a style that all the ladies of the city were wearing, and she loaded every piece of jewelery she owned onto her neck, her arms and fingers.  
  
Heero smiled at Catherine's efforts to look like a gentlewoman. Indeed, she dressed the part; women these days were extravagant and bulky in their clothes and jewelery and makeup. What set Catherine apart was her aura...no one had an aura like that of the gypsy. Behind the clothes and the jewelery was mystery and intrigue that Heero appreciated-and had found in Trowa.  
  
"So?" Catherine smiled shyly, and twirled around, her dress swooshing in the air and settling as soon as she stopped twirling.  
  
"You look lovely, Catherine," Heero complimented, taking the woman's gloved hand and kissing the back of it lightly. "Shall we go?"  
  
Catherine nodded, blushing at the gesture. She looked back to wave at Trowa who stood at the kitchen table, still in his nightclothes. He waved in return, smiling awkwardly.  
  
"Be good, okay, Trowa?" said Catherine; she then turned around and walked out the door arm in arm with Heero, Sebastian following them close behind.  
  
Trowa sat in the emptiness of the house. //It certainly is large,// he thought, noting that the only sound that resounded throughout the house was the ticking of a small clock on the mantle. It was only six o' clock at night, but the days were getting shorter and the sun had already gone to rest. Heero insisted on not taking Catherine out during the day, complaining of the crowd.  
  
//He doesn't like to be out during the day,// Trowa pointed out to himself and sipping the cup of coffee from the brew Sebastian had made right before Heero's departure. //I wonder why that is.//  
  
He stretched above his head, noting that he hadn't gotten dressed all day; he felt incredibly dirty and unclean. He decided to take a bath, a luxury unknown to him until he had come under Heero's wing. Letting his clothes fall to the floor, he sat on the toliet next to the bath and watched as the water filled the tub slowly, the water pouring from the faucet forming violent ripples in the surface.  
  
Trowa took a moment to observe his body, which had been through much more activity than recently the past few days. His skin seemed firmer, like he'd discovered muscle he never knew he had. His arms and legs seemed stronger, less dirty. He felt better inside...Heero made him feel that way.  
  
He turned off the faucet, stepping into the bathtub with cautious, as not to slip. He eased his body into the water, breathing out a sigh in the inviting, womb-like warmth of the water enveloping his skin. He soaked for a few minutes, letting his muscles relax and loosen.  
  
It was indeed a luxury, a luxury many didn't know they had. Trowa handled a bar of soap, running it over his arms and watching as a slick lather developed. He let his arms drop to the sides, some of the lather choosing to float on the surface and the rest slowly dissolving to turn the water a murky white. He gave the same treatment to his legs, what he and Catherine had called "gypsy legs"; legs that were a rich dark caramel that bended and flexed at will and were never-ending in length. They were virtually hairless, as was most of Trowa's body; the only hair present a soft, fine blond that hardly showed itself. His elegant fingers rubbed his legs which ached for no real reason; they'd ached since he started doing shows for their gypsy train.  
  
//Perhaps they'll begin to not ache so much anymore,// thought Trowa, letting his head rest on the side of the tub again. He thought of Heero and the two brilliant, erotic, radiant nights they'd spent together, worshipping each other's bodies and the way their structures reflected in the candlelight as it flickered and danced across their faces that demanded need and attention. He recalled Heero's face as it twisted in extacy, as it grimaced with severe concentration, as it relaxed in utter pleasure. He wondered how he looked during their lovemaking, which was intense and compulsive and urgent-but loving and adoring and glorifying.  
  
Quickly, he dove his head under the water and sprung back up to the surface, letting the water that dripped from his bangs slowly dribble over his face. It was refreshing.  
  
----------  
  
Meanwhile, Catherine and Heero arrived at the department store in the city where all the finest women bought and tailored their clothes. Catherine's stomach was full of butterflies as Heero got out of the carriage, offering his hand to assit Catherine out of the carriage as well.  
  
"Come, Catherine," he beckoned, a small smile forming on his lips.  
  
//He's so beautiful,// thought Catherine, grinning as she took Heero's hand and hopped out of the carriage, making sure her dress was still intact. He watched as the cool night breeze blew Heero's bangs over his eyes and how his alluring cobalt blue eyes closed slightly as he took in the scene at the department store.  
  
It wasn't too crowded, and Heero liked it that way. He nodded good-bye to Sebastian, who was to stay at the entrance and wait for their return.  
  
"I'll be seeing you, Mr. Yuy," Sebastian parted, and tipped his hat as he sat back in the driver's seat of the carriage. //I hope Mr. Yuy will finally settle down,// the old man thought, smiling to himself.  
  
Catherine walked into the entrance of the store, her heart beating rapidly. //Why am I so nervous?// she wondered to herself...she knew the answer. Never in her life had she been among the prestigious, the distinguished...would they recognize her in gentlewoman's clothing?  
  
She entered the store, her nose immediately drinking the smells of imported leather, of freshly pressed shirts, and of a cleanness she was uncertain of. Looking around, she was surrounded by racks and racks of clothes; more clothes than she'd ever seen before.  
  
Observing Catherine, Heero noticed the sparks and glee in her innocent eyes. He was glad he opened up this world for her, a world full of extravagence she'd never known. Without saying a word, he led her to a rack of dresses, a dark, velvet green one catching his eye. As an artist, he'd always had a lair for choosing what was right for anyone's body structure.  
  
"Do you like this one?" asked Heero, fingering the thick material that was perfect for the cool weather that was surfacing. "It will keep you warm. You're quite small, and the empire waist will make you appear taller. The green compliments your eyes well."  
  
Catherine blushed at all the attention she was receiving from Heero. She took the dress in her hand as it still hung from the rack, toying with the fabric and rubbing its richness between her fingers. Her finger caught the price tag of the dress and she nearly cried out with astonishment.  
  
"Heero, no!" she whispered, price tag still in hand. "I will not let you pay for this! This costs more than all the clothes I own!"  
  
Heero put his hand over the price tag and removed it from Catherine's hand. He took the dress off the rack, holding it up in front of Catherine's body. "It doesn't matter. What only matters is that you feel happy wearing it. Would you like a dress like this?" A mirror outlined by a golden frame hung on the nearby wall, and he took Catherine by the waist, guiding her to her reflection. He stood behind Catherine, holding the dress like before. He spoke to her, his breath tickling her ear.  
  
"Look Catherine. Do you like what you see?" he said.  
  
Catherine peered into the mirror and saw the dress against being held against her bosom. She imagined dancing in this dress, in a grand ballroom with hundreds of onlookers admiring her. Dancing with Heero. She was drunk with wonder.  
  
"Yes," she said, swallowing.  
  
"Then we'll get it." He folded it carefully over his arm. "Pick out others that suit your fancy. We can get them as well. Sebastian can hem them and tailor them for you if they're too large. You're very slender, so these dresses may be too large for your frame; but we'll fix that." Heero smiled at Catherine's innocent delight in permission to get whatever she desired; he figured she hadn't had that opportunity too often before.  
  
Catherine, on a new quest, scanned the rows of dresses that came in all different colors and sizes. She was awed by how many different kinds there were; even more awed by their prices. But Heero insisted it would be taken care of. Nevertheless, Catherine picked only three dresses; the green one they'd first chosen, a plain black one made of wool with silk underlinings, and a white low neck gown that Heero had chosen for her, saying that it would fit her nicely.  
  
"Your neck and shoulders are exquisite, Catherine," Heero said to her, holding up the dress. "This should show them off well. Perhaps I can take you dancing at one of Governor Letchford's banquets."  
  
//Oh my...he's offering to take me with him!// thought Catherine excitedly. She blushed shyly. "I'm afraid I don't know how to dance...I mean, I know how to dance...as I do. But at a ball...with formal dancing...I'm afraid I just don't know how."  
  
Heero smiled. "That's quite alright. I can teach you." He smiled as he laid the white dress over the two others they'd chosen. "Now, shoes?"  
  
"Oh, no, Heero, the dresses are enough, I assure you-"  
  
"Nonsense. All the finest gentlewomen have shoes to match their dresses." He smiled again. "Let's go, shall we?"  
  
Heero smiled even bigger inwardly as he held Catherine's dresses in one hand and felt her arm lace around his as they turned the corner to where the shoes were sold. He liked the feeling of pleasing another. Sebastian was always egging him to court someone; but what Sebastian also didn't know of was Heero's distaste of women. But he found such happiness around Catherine; everything was a wonderful, new, innocent experience, so different than the other women he knew. The other women acted like everything was theirs to own, the same thing, day in and day out, like life was just another thing to buy. Catherine took pleasure in acknowledging the world as a fragile thing, something to care for and nurture. Perhaps it was the gypsy spirit within her and Trowa that attracted him to the siblings so much, he didn't know. He chuckled as Catherine immediately ran to a pair of shoes on display, a pearly white that matched her new white gown.  
  
"Oh, Heero, they're perfect!" Her smile turned into a blush as she said, "but...I've never worn shoes with heels before...I'll fall flat on my face!" She laughed a little, and Heero took the shoe from her hand, along with its pair.  
  
"You'll learn in time. I hear it's terribly uncomfortable, so we'll get the next size up so they won't muder your feet, alright?"  
  
Catherine smiled. "Alright," she agreed.  
  
They chose a conventional pair of black flats and an interesting pair of green heels to match the dress before going on to the jewelery section of the store. Diamonds and gold and various other precious gems shined and glistened in Catherine's eyes and she looked away from it sadly.  
  
"Heero, I can't," she said. "I just can't. I've never had so much before. I'm afraid I'll start to like it."  
  
"What's wrong with having what you're able to have?" Heero said softly. "You haven't had many material things before, and I want you to indulge now. I can afford it, I really can. I want to give you these things, these things you weren't able to have before."  
  
He touched Catherine's shoulder lightly and turned her towards a mirror on a nearby wall. Catherine felt something lying coldly against her neck. She opened her eyes to find a glittering diamond necklace around her swanlike neck. She gasped and touched the necklace softly, retracting her fingers as soon as she touched it as if she willed not to mar its beauty. "Oh, Heero, no!" she whispered.  
  
"Yes," said Heero, looking at her in the mirror. His face was warm and kind as he fastened the necklace onto Catherine's neck, her hair tickling the backs of his hands. "What do you think?" he asked.  
  
"It's...it's absolutely beautiful, Heero," said Catherine, still astonished that such a priceless piece of jewelery was circled her neck. HER neck.  
  
"Would you like this?" Heero asked.  
  
Catherine swallowed. "Yes. But you have to promise me one thing." She turned to face Heero and touched the necklace lightly. "This is the last thing we get...okay?" Her voice was meek and humble. Heero appreciated her plainness; any other woman he would take out like this would have already thrown fifty dresses and ten pairs of shoes in his hands and be well on their way to snatching the diamond necklace in their hands and demanding it heartily. Instead...Catherine continued to touch the necklace and view her surroundings as if she were walking in a dream.  
  
They left the store contented, and Sebastian waved pleasantly as he saw the bundle in Heero's arms and a splendidly gleeful Catherine by his side. He hopped off the driver's seat and helped Heero load the various bags of clothes into the carriage, and assisted Catherine as she stepped into the coach. Heero nodded his thanks as he climbed in beside Catherine. Sebastian shut the door lightly and hopped back onto the driver's seat, hitting the reins against Lucy's legs. The powerful horse fidgeted a bit before beginning to set its pace back home.  
  
Catherine yawned soundly, causing her to shut her mouth tightly and blush at her rudness. "I'm sorry, I'm just so sleepy," she apologized.  
  
Heero smiled. "It's fine. You woke early. When we get back home, you can take a nap before Sebastian makes us dinner."  
  
She nodded sleepily. "I think I will."  
  
----------  
  
Trowa sat up from his slumber as his acute ears picked up on the sounds of Lucy's hooves smacking against the cobblestones street that lead to Heero's house, and the roll of the carriage wheels as they hit the street as well. Trowa looked out the window in time to see Sebastian stop Lucy from heading on down the road any further, and watched as the door to the carriage opened, Heero stepping out first.  
  
"I'll go start dinner, Mr. Yuy," Sebastian said, tying Lucy's bit to the nearby hook on the house. "I assure you'll help Miss Catherine make it inside safely."  
  
Trowa watched as Heero stuck out his hand into the carriage and pulled Catherine out, his sister looking almost like a stranger in her unusual clothing. He couldn't make out what they said, but his breath caught in his throat as he realized they weren't talking at all.  
  
They were kissing. Heero's mouth on Catherine's, kissing her as Catherine's obvious innocent attempts to kiss were made on Heero's lips. Heero had his arms wrapped around Catherine's waist, Catherine's arms linked about Heero's shoulders.  
  
Trowa looked on in astonishment. He turned away from the window quickly as the door to the house opened.  
  
"Mr. Barton?" called Sebastian from downstairs. "Mr. Barton, dinner will be in half an hour."  
  
"Thank you, Sebastian," Trowa called in return. Trowa was experiencing fifty different emotions at the same time, all of them swirling in his head and making him dizzy with the thought process. //He was...but he's...last night we...she must be...he must be...is he.?//  
  
----------  
  
Later that night, Trowa, dressed in a pair of loose-fitting pants only, knocked softly on Heero's door at the stroke of midnight.  
  
"Come in," he heard Heero beckon from the other side of the door.  
  
Trowa slowly opened the door, getting his first magical glimpses of the candlelight in Heero's room that enchanted him so deeply. Heero was sitting at his easel, looking Trowa up and down as he had done the first two night they'd bedded together.  
  
"You're exquisite," said Heero, standing to greet Trowa, the skin on Trowa's chest stretched across incredible muscle that glowed in the candlelight. Trowa bent his head down for a kiss, and Heero pressed against Trowa's lips tightly, each recalling the sanctity held in their lips' touch.  
  
While kissing Heero, his lips warm and welcoming, Trowa recalled the scene outside on the street, of Heero kissing Catherine only hours before. He pulled away.  
  
Heero looked at Trowa with concern embedded in his eyes. "Is something wrong?" Heero asked. "Did I do something wrong? Are you alright?"  
  
Trowa shook his head. "It's nothing. I'm just...tired I suppose. I don't want to fall asleep on you."  
  
Heero smiled. "Yes." He brought Trowa to the loveseat they were both quite familiar with now, and Trowa lounged upon it like a lethargic cat, his long legs stretched out so that one was folded beneath the other which hung over the side of the loveseat. His arm stretched over his head as well as a cushion to his head, the other arm cradled against his chest. He was comfortable and really was tired; his eyes began to droop.  
  
"Are you too tired?" asked Heero, sitting down at his easel after filling a jar with water from the nearby sink. "We can do this tomorrow, if you'd like."  
  
Trowa shook his head again. "No. I can stay awake. Just...talk to me and I will."  
  
"Alright," Heero agreed. He took a minute to survey the beautiful man that lay spread out on the furniture before him. God, he was beautiful. The fact that he didn't even acknowledge or seem to realize how beautiful he was made him all the more appealing. Heero knew he had to capture that innocence...that humble awareness...that virginity he found in Trowa.  
  
"I have a better idea," announced Heero, continuing to stare down Trowa with a look that made Trowa hungry for more.  
  
"Yes?" Trowa asked.  
  
"Do close your eyes. It won't matter if you fall asleep then or not."  
  
"Alright." Trowa said. He closed his eyes and took cover into the darkness. //It's safe here,// he thought.  
  
The only senses Trowa now relied on was his smell and his hearing. The only thing he could smell was the thick smell of candles, the wax burning and the way the wicks would sometimes blow out because of the small breeze that whispered through the window. He heard every one of Heero's brush strokes as it slowly left a trail along the canvas.  
  
All was quiet when he began to speak.  
  
"Heero?" he said slowly.  
  
"Yes?" Heero answered, his mind concentrating solely on his brushwork.  
  
"Are you fond of Catherine?" Trowa asked.  
  
"Yes, I am," said Heero simply. "She's a very wonderful person. A lot like you, I suppose. I've befriended her quite nicely."  
  
Trowa paused. "No, I mean...would you want to court her?"  
  
Trowa heard Heero's paintbrush cease and heard it land in it's tray with a small "clang." He heard the squeak and groan of Heero's chair as he heard Heero stand. //He's leaving me,// said Trowa, his eyes shut tightly. //He's going to ask me to leave. He's going to-//  
  
All thoughts suspended as he felt the safe embrace of Heero's arms around him, so tight and powerful; it gave him a kind of excitement he'd never experienced before, knowing that the man that held him could very well crush him, but chose instead to relish the feel of their skin's contact. He heard Heero's words as they ghosted over his ears.  
  
"I wouldn't court Catherine," he heard Heero say softly and lovingly. "Not when I have you to love. Even if I were to court Catherine, I would ask for your permission first." Heero continued to hold him tightly amidst the twenty-three candles that encircled them cozily against the soft breezes which continued to nip at Trowa's face and shoulders.  
  
Still, Trowa couldn't help the image of Heero and Catherine's kiss from slowly and achingly invading his mind.  
  
--to be continued-- 


	6. Candlelight Masterpiece 6

Catherine stood in front of the mirror, her locks of auburn hair curled in tight ringlets around her face. She smiled in contentment at the girl that smiled back in the mirror. Her lips were painted a dark shade of reddish brown to blend with her hair; in contrast, her skin was powdered a pale white as was the fashion of the day. Beyond the streaks of bright green eye shadow, a gleaming violet shone through in her eyes which sparkled with excitement and wonder.  
  
Trowa sat on the soft bed spread, regarding his sister as she stood in front of the mirror for what felt like the fiftieth time that night. He was happy that she had something to be excited about...he'd feel terrible once she knew the truth.  
  
//Or,// Trowa thought, leaning back on his elbows. //Perhaps I'LL be the one who will discover a truth beyond what Heero is showing me.//  
  
Catherine turned to face Trowa, still smiling brightly. "So?" she asked, twirling around once more. "How do I look?"  
  
"Beautiful," commented Trowa, who attempted a small smile in return. "You're nervous," he added, noting that Catherine's hands were trembling the slightest bit while she held up the dress that swept the floor as she walked.  
  
"I know," said Catherine, blushing. "I just...just think about where we WERE, Trowa," Catherine said, sitting beside her brother on the bed. She grasped Trowa's hands in hers, and she grinned widely. "I was wrong to doubt your certainty about leaving the train...we've got what we've always wanted! Money and food...more than enough of it...and even a place to stay."  
  
Trowa agreed, in some aspects. Money and food were his original intentions for letting Heero take them under his wing...but now that he had it, things were seen in such different lights. He wanted...he wanted something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He stood, wishing his sister a fabulous time as he excused himself to seek out Heero and see that he was preparing for the night as well.  
  
He closed the door to the room he shared with Catherine, and walked towards Heero's room, finding himself face to face with a closed door. Trowa realized that Heero's door was most often found closed, even when Heero was alone in the house. Knocking softly, Trowa stood outside Heero's door.  
  
"Heero?" he called in a whisper. Recognizing Heero's request for his entrance - a simple "enter"-he turned the knob fully and walked in, closing the door softly behind him. At once it was an onslaught, Heero pressing Trowa into the door, Heero's tongue teasing Trowa's lips and the corners of the taller man's mouth. Trowa's arms wrapped around Heero's neck, letting their tongues clash together in a wildly tiny hurricane as Heero grasped Trowa's hips.  
  
Suddenly, images of Catherine and Heero's lips pressed together firmly flashed into Trowa's mind, and he pulled away softly.  
  
"Not now, Heero," he said, wiping his mouth. "Catherine's waiting for you."  
  
Heero cocked his head. "Are you sure you're feeling well, Trowa?" He gazed into Trowa's emerald, passionate, but clouded eyes, as the stare became too much for Trowa and he stepped away, holding the door open for Heero.  
  
"Have a good time," Trowa said. "I'm going to bed in a couple of hours; I'll see you in the morning, I suppose."  
  
Catherine stepped into the hallway, her skirt whooshing and swooshing around her ankles. She smiled at Heero and Trowa at the other end of the hallway. "Are you ready, Heero?"  
  
A smile tugged at Heero's lips, but he couldn't bring himself to a full grin. "I'll be right there. Sebastian is out by the carriage and I'll join you in a few moments."  
  
Catherine curtseyed politely and walked into the kitchen where the stairs would lead to the door to the outside.  
  
Heero looked back at Trowa one last time. "Are you sure nothing is wrong?"  
  
"Yes. Now go...I'll be here in the morning, you know."  
  
Heero smiled fully and then pressed his lips to Trowa's, cradling the back of Trowa's head. Heero then left, looking back one last time to nod to Trowa, who stood at the doorway like an abandoned child.  
  
Trowa heard the door slam and he looked down at his feet.  
  
//Nothing is wrong,// he tried to convince himself. //Nothing.//  
  
----------  
  
Catherine and Heero entered the ballroom hand in hand. Catherine walked beside Heero, her eyes capturing rich visions of the orchestra that provided soft background music to lavish couples, some swaying together on the polished dance floor and others stopping to admire Heero's paintings that were displayed among other established artists. The paintings would be auctioned off later that night.  
  
"It's so beautiful, Heero," Catherine remarked as she tilted her head towards the eloquent chandeliers above her head.  
  
"Indeed," was all Heero said, also looking around the room. What *he* was looking for, however, were possible buyers of his paintings, feeling contented as he saw the mayor and his wife among the reputable-and wealthy- guests who were smiling as they gestured towards a landscape of his.  
  
He led Catherine to a table, pulling out a chair for her to sit upon. Catherine took her seat, pulling it towards the table. Before her was a plate that held a variety of hors d'oeuvres. Catherine's eyes widened as she reached for something of which its identity she did not know anything about, but that it appeared tasty. Heero put his hand lightly over hers.  
  
"Not yet, but soon," he said.  
  
Catherine immediately blushed a fine crimson, but Heero patted her hand comfortingly. "You can eat, but it is considered impolite. See Madame Pomfry stuffing her face? She has no dignity to lose."  
  
Catherine giggled as felt at ease as she watched the overly voluptuous woman who shoved food in her mouth just as quickly as she was speaking, food spewing from her mouth and onto the floor where her lap dog ate up the leftover crumbs. Catherine smiled at Heero, who squeezed her hand in return as they heard someone announce that dinner was served.  
  
"...Heero?" Catherine started. Her violet eyes darted eagerly to the untouched food on her plate to Heero and back again.  
  
Heero smiled his rare smile. "You may eat now, Catherine."  
  
Catherine smiled sheepishly as she picked up an hors d'oeuvre and bit into it. Immediately, her mouth was overcome with exquisite flavors she'd never had before. She was beginning to love this new life as she took each savory bite.  
  
Heero looked on, still mesmerized by the wonder found in Catherine's eyes with each new luxury that he found unnecessary and excessive. It was like watching a child unwrap birthday presents. The wonder and pleasant surprises were found in Catherine, the wonder and surprise Heero had lost so long ago and was now drowning in the beauty he found in both Catherine and Trowa.  
  
//Am I fond of Catherine?// he thought. He really didn't know for sure. She gave him so much; for the gifts of awe and excitement and curiosity, he tried to reimburse her with material things he continued to feel inadequate about.  
  
The night continued on-Heero's paintings sold well and Catherine talked excitedly about it on the way back home in the carriage.  
  
"I'm so happy for you, Heero!" she praised him. "Wow...all that money you won...I mean...I know it's rude for women to talk to men about their investments-"  
  
"Some of it will go to your brother; I have more portraits I'd like to do of him." Heero was holding Catherine's hand as they sat side by side, her head on his shoulder. She was a wee bit tipsy; her lack of earlier alcohol intake gave her a rather low tolerance. Heero had seen her down three or four glasses during the night; who knows how many she'd had when he *wasn't* looking.  
  
"That's great, Heero!" she said, slurring the "r" in his name.  
  
"Okay, Catherine, as soon as we get home, we're going to bed, okay?"  
  
"`We'?" she said, smiling a little too gleefully. "Heero, you're a naughty boy!" she said giggling as she tilted her head up and clumsily crushed her lips against Heero's, not waiting for permission before diving her tongue into his mouth.  
  
Before Heero could fully comprehend what was happening, Catherine was straddling his lap, her knees on the cushion of the carriage, pressing her supple breasts against Heero's chest, pressing her crotch against Heero's teasingly. The skirt of her dress was pulled up as Heero ran his hands along the sides of her muscular legs, strong after years in the gypsy train.  
  
Catherine ran her hands along Heero's chest, continuing to kiss him ferociously and with demand. She rocked against his groin which was slowly coming to life with Catherine's purpose. His breath was shallow as she grazed her teeth against his cheek and she began to suckle firmly on his neck, teasing the nerve centers she located by Heero's slight grunts of pleasure.  
  
Heero was blinded by what Catherine was making him feel, completely oblivious to the fact that Sebastian had purposely circled the street two or three times, hearing the sounds of their passion.  
  
//I don't want to hurt Trowa...I don't want to...I don't want...oh, god, that feels good.//  
  
Suddenly, all the desire burned out as the carriage came to a stop in front of the house. Catherine threw herself off of Heero and they both straightened their clothing promptly. Sebastain opened the door with a secretive knowledge in his eyes that he shared with Heero, who led Catherine out of the carriage.  
  
She immediately slipped and fell onto the road.  
  
"Oof!" was her cry, the dress spilling out over her legs as she fell. In one movement, Heero scooped Catherine in his arms, carrying her into the house, nodding his thanks to Sebastian as he traveled upstairs.  
  
He found darkness from Trowa's room as he carried Catherine down on his bed, then closing and locking the door to his bedroom. Frantically stripping off his shirt, he dove onto the bed, hovering over Catherine's body and kissing her in an almost psychotic frenzy, fondling her breasts roughly and smashing his lips against hers, his tongue seeking her throat. She accepted all of Heero's passion fully, arching her back into his touch, opening her mouth wider to take him in. Her dress was unbuttoned clumsily, her skin exposed to the cool night air, yet the sweat of her desire mixed with Heero's.  
  
Heero could hear nothing but Catherine's small whimpers and sighs of the pleasure he provided. He could feel nothing but the way Catherine's core enveloped him as he pistoned into her body. He could taste nothing but the arousal that hung in the air like a thick fog. He could smell nothing but the scents of burning wax, of Catherine's perfume, and the smells of sex. He could see nothing but Catherine's beautiful face, her curious, eager face twisted in ecstacy.  
  
Climaxing, he slumped against her body as her vaginal walls continued to pulse and throb against his erection that still lingered in her body. They heaved against each other, their breath intermixing. He pulled out, and lay beside her, stroking her hair away from her eyes which continued to dance as she closed them and surrendered to sleep, feeling that words weren't necessary.  
  
Heero waited until he heard Catherine's breath even out, knowing that she was indeed asleep. He tiptoed quietly into Trowa's room to find the beautiful man in a deep slumber.  
  
Trowa was completely nude, the covers kicked away during a dream. His body was a work of art, each muscle sculpted perfectly, each facial feature in its perfect place. His eyelashes fluttered as a dream overtook Trowa's world.  
  
Heero sat down beside Trowa, pulling out the same charcoal and paper he'd stashed away from before. He began to draw.  
  
----------  
  
Trowa awoke, the sun blinding him for a few split seconds as he waited for his eyes to adjust. The sun was just rising over the horizon, spilling its glaze over the clouds in the wee hours of morning.  
  
He tried to sit up from the floor, but his hand was unsteady and slipped from beneath him, sending him down onto his elbow. He looked down at the distraction to find himself.  
  
A drawing of himself. Fifty, sixty sleeping Trowas lay scattered on the floor at his side, forming a bed for Heero, who slept slumped against Catherine's bed fast asleep, charcoal pencil still in his hand, which was black from the charcoal itself.  
  
Trowa smiled at Heero, who was naked as he was, his groin covered by the sketch pad on his lap. He glanced up to see Catherine asleep as well...only to find an equally naked bed.  
  
Trowa furrowed his brow and stood, quiet as not to wake Heero. He stepped outside and into the kitchen hoping that Catherine was there.  
  
She wasn't.  
  
He made his way back to his room, and dared to glance into Heero's open bedroom door. The glance became a glare as his eyes rested upon his sister in Heero's bed, the covers pulled up over her body...her shoulders bare, hinting at what the rest of her body wore-nothing.  
  
Heero awoke; judging how the sun nearly fried his eyes as he woke, he judged that it was midday and that he'd have to get stronger shades to block out the sun. He tried to sit up, only to realize he already was. As his eyes adjusted, he also realized that someone else was sitting on the floor in front of him. It was Trowa.  
  
Trowa was silent for a few moments; he'd taken a cup of coffee into his lap, stirring it occassionaly while watching the cream dissolve into the black heat.  
  
"So," Trowa began. "You invited her into your bed."  
  
Heero looked down, ashamed. //Oh god,// he thought. "It's not what he thinks...or is it?// "Yes, I did," he answered plainly. "And I'd like for you to know my intentions."  
  
Trowa dared not look into Heero's eyes, for he knew if he did, he'd get the firey and encapturing stare of Heero's intensity. "Proceed."  
  
"Trowa," he began. Truth be told, he didn't know what exactly his intentions were either. "You know how women are towards men-"  
  
"No," interrupted Trowa curtly. "Actually, I don't-and I didn't think you would either."  
  
Heero sighed. "Listen, Trowa. She was drunk. I was a little tispy myself. I was...I was irrational. I wasn't thinking as clearly as I could and I'm sure Catherine wasn't either. I don't know how I can explain this to you."  
  
Trowa glared at the hard wood floor he sat upon. "Try."  
  
Heero inhaled, closing his eyes. "Do you remember when I told you why I painted in the candlelight? Because it was inconsistant, as everything is?" Trowa's silence he took as an affirmation and he continued. "Life changes, Trowa. People change. Things...don't stay the same. Relationships flicker and die out like a candle; but sometimes they seem to dim a little and then burn brightly again." Heero scooted closer to Trowa. "I understand why you're hurt. All I can do is apologize, and I do. I'm so deepy sorry that I've hurt you. It must be hard for you to understand me. But we must trust each other through the flickering of life. And perhaps-" he took Trowa's hand "-perhaps we can shine again together."  
  
Tears fell from Trowa's eyes. "I don't know what to say." He finally chanced a glance at Heero; instead of a glare he found compassion. It was what he needed. "It's hard to understand you, Heero," he said. "I'm trying so goddam hard."  
  
"Why do you continue to try?" asked Heero, his voice soft and cracking with the sobs that caught in his throat.  
  
"Because something tells me that if I keep trying, it will be rewarding. Something tells me that we'll continue to burn." He smiled through the light tears that streamed down his face.  
  
"Whatever that something is," Heero said, his own tears shining on his cheeks. "I'm glad you're listening to it." He joined his lips to Trowa's, their kiss sweet and nurturing. A warmth spread between them, contrasting the cool air in the room. Their hands touched each other's faces, each worshiping the other's physical features, each other's touch.  
  
A gasp was heard and echoed in the small room. Heero and Trowa both turned to face Catherine, who stood at the doorway, her body wrapped in Heero's bedsheets.  
  
--to be continued-- 


	7. Candlelight Masterpiece 7

Catherine stood, different facial expressions battling to take control of her face. In a combat with astonishment, anger, and even disbelief, astonishment won in the end, Catherine's jaw dropping, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. The hands gripping the bedsheets around her body tightened as they trembled.  
  
"Heero?" she whispered, the word barely audible as the two young men stared up at Catherine with fear overtaking their eyes. "Heero...what...what is...?"  
  
Her voice trailed off, her lips mouthing the words she couldn't say, Heero unable to distinguish any real words except for one, which she managed to speak in a soft, scared tone that chilled Heero's very heart.  
  
"Why?" she choked. Tears began to form in her eyes, giving them an appearance of glass. Trowa immediately looked down at his feet, holding his hands over his face.  
  
//What have I done?// he thought, cursing himself as he heard Heero try to explain. He hid behind his hands, not wanting to face...not wanting to face...  
  
"Catherine," Heero began. His heart fluttered and then crumbled as Catherine's chokes formed sobs and he watched as she disappeared from the doorway and slammed his bedroom door. With the bang of the door, Heero slumped back against the side of the bed, slamming his fist into the floor.  
  
"Shit!" he spat out, refusing to look at Trowa's reaction to the whole scenario that had occurred within less than a minute. //How could I have been so foolish?// he thought to himself, his fingers still curled into fists of rage, anger pointed at himself.  
  
He now chanced a look at Trowa, who was now staring back at him. Trowa's eyes were unusually bright, glossy with the tears that had formed and flowed in small silvery rivers down his face. Yet, Trowa continued to stare at Heero for some kind of advice, some kind of wisdom; Heero looked to Trowa for the same things. They wanted so much from each other, and they both didn't know what they'd get in return. Heero didn't rip his eyes away from Trowa's gaze.  
  
"Trowa-" he began, but Trowa's forefinger pressed against Heero's lips, silencing the artist as he attempted to paint words.  
  
"Please, Heero," Trowa said, his voice desperate and sad, a sadness Heero had seen since the first day they'd met, but had never become blatant until now. "Go to her, now. Before we're nothing more than the leftover wicks of a candle."  
  
Heero was silent and still for a moment, then nodded to Trowa, doing nothing more than standing and running out of the room, leaving Trowa alone to his thoughts.  
  
It was Trowa's turn to slump against the bed, letting his legs sprawl out in front of him, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to land on the surface of the bed. He closed his eyes, more tears becoming present and slithering down his cheeks as asps glide through lakes. He didn't make a sound, allowing the tears to tell a story he wouldn't even make noise about.  
  
His heart was full of pain. His own pain, Catherine's pain, and even Heero's. He couldn't comprehend what Catherine was feeling at that time; he could only think of the pain she must be feeling. He knew she'd never had a lover before Heero; it was never worthwhile when you're only in one place for a certain amount of days and then have to move on. And now her first and only lover betrayed her for her brother; for another man, no less.  
  
And what of Heero? Heero now had to deny to Catherine all the things that were true; that he took a male lover, that he was fond of her brother, that he betrayed her after taking her into his bed. The truth was that he was homosexual, that he'd welcomed Trowa in his bed, and that he wasn't betraying Catherine, but betraying Trowa instead. Trowa wouldn't know what to do in Heero's position.  
  
Instead, Trowa didn't know what to do with his own pain. He wanted to console Catherine; but would she take consolation from the man her lover had just embraced, had kissed? He wanted to soothe Heero; but would he take comfort from the man who caused Catherine so much pain? Trowa didn't know what to feel, didn't know what to do. He knew he must apologize to both Catherine and Heero; to Catherine for betraying her and not being entirely honest with her about his life that he had unabashedly concealed from her, and to Heero for even getting involved with him in the first place.  
  
//I'm not homosexual,// thought Trowa. //I am not fond of Heero. Catherine is my blood; I have to make her happy.//  
  
Trowa wondered if he could ever really believe himself. He curled himself into a ball, his arms hugging his legs to his chest and he cried.  
  
----------  
  
"Catherine?"  
  
Heero spoke to the door, hitting his knuckle against the oak wood door. "May I come in?"  
  
"It's your room," he heard Catherine say, her voice heavy with sobs.  
  
He turned the knob and entered, his eyes immediately resting on Catherine's body, which lay wrapped up in his sheets, on the bed. She lay on her stomach, her face buried in a pillow and her arms curled up tightly beneath her. He sat beside her on the bed, his hand coming to rest on her pale, naked shoulder. She instantly shied away from the touch.  
  
"I just as well should have expected it," she spoke into the pillow, her voice muffled but still audible. Heero folded his hands in his lap and listened.  
  
"The one time in my life I settle down and have even a slice of the way life should be; a home, people around me who love me, and even someone who loved me a little bit more." She began to weep openly. "It turns out-it turns out that he was fooling me all along."  
  
Heero's face softened. "Catherine, please believe me that that was not my intention. I never meant to hurt you at all."  
  
"Then why did you?" Catherine said, ripping her face away from the pillow, letting the sheets fall from her body and pile around her waist, leaving her body exposed as she released her fury on Heero. "It doesn't matter that you didn't mean to hurt me! In the end, you did! You're...you're involved with...a man! It's...unnatural!"  
  
"Catherine, I am not involved with your brother," Heero lied, his heart crying inside as each new lie escaped his lips. "I am not fond of men at all. Your brother was not feeling his best. He was worried about where you were last night. I was consoling him, that's all. That's all it was."  
  
Catherine let Heero's words sink into her mind. She gripped the sheets once more, this time not out of passion, but out of desperate worry. //Perhaps my mind is clouded; perhaps they weren't...perhaps they weren't kissing as long as I thought. People show affection when another, their friend, is affected. Well...I did have more to drink than I've ever had before, and perhaps...perhaps my mind is a little biased.//  
  
"So...you're...you're not involved with Trowa?" she asked, her eyes meeting Heero's again.  
  
Heero repeated the lie that killed a small part of him each time he repeated it. "No, I am not."  
  
Catherine's eyes were red from rubbing the tears from her eyes, jamming the heels of her hands into her eyes to stop the tears from coming, only to fail as they trickled down her face. She felt betrayed. But...Heero had said there was nothing between he and Trowa. She had to believe him. He had given her so much; the least she could give him was her trust.  
  
"I-I believe you," she said.  
  
Heero let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Thank you, Catherine. Your trust means a lot to me, and I hope that you won't be this distressed again. I would never do anything to harm you or your brother; both of your are the family I've never had."  
  
//And I mean that,// Heero thought, embracing a distraught Catherine in his arms, feeling her tears moisten his chest, and the last heaves of her sobs quiver against him. He couldn't cry; he hadn't cried for years, ever since he could remember. Ever since...ever since...  
  
Before he had a chance to dive into his past, his eyes fixed upon a candle which was merely a stump. It burned dimly, the last bits of wax dribbling down the sides of the candle, like the non-existent tears that would have streamed down Heero's face, if he had had the strength, the will to exert such emotion.  
  
He regarded the candle with respect; the candle was crying, because he'd never really know how.  
  
----------  
  
It was midnight.  
  
Trowa knocked slowly on Heero's door, a little softer than he normally did. He heard Heero beckoning him to enter the room, a little softer than he normally did.  
  
He entered and found Heero sitting at his easel, his eyes staring at the ceiling. In front of Heero was where Trowa was to be seated. A soft, velvet chair was supported by mahogany legs in front of Heero's beautiful draperies, also velvet, falling dramatically onto the floor, cascading from the ceiling magnificently.  
  
"Take off your clothes," was all Heero said, his eyes continuing to stare at the comforting ceiling.  
  
Without words, Trowa removed the soft pants he'd been wearing all day, letting them form a puddle at his feet. Immediately, the warmth of the room embraced him, enveloping his naked form in a kind of liquid heat that he had experienced for some time now...ever since he'd allowed Heero to paint him. He stepped out of his pants quietly, his bare feet hitting the floor in undetectable steps. He approached Heero, who still gazed at the ceiling.  
  
"Sit," Heero said.  
  
Trowa sat. Heero took his gaze off of the ceiling and fixed it on Trowa, his stare so heavy that Trowa looked away in discomfort. Heero stood and advanced towards Trowa, his hands coming in contact with Trowa's smooth, bronze skin, the skin he'd worshipped for the small, but precious, time they'd spent together.  
  
"Let your legs dangle over the side of the chair," Heero said softly, his commands so soft and sure that Trowa took them as childlike requests and obeyed them willingly. "Let the cushion of the chair support your back. Hook your arm around the arm rest...lay the other one across your stomach. The corner of side of the chair and the back of the chair should cradle your face." Trowa did all he could to please Heero, and found that Heero looked at him now with eyes of contentment and appreciation.  
  
"Are you comfortable?" Heero asked Trowa, his eyes not leaving Trowa's.  
  
Trowa fixed his gaze upon Heero, and nodded. "Yes."  
  
Heero nodded in return, and continued to gaze upon Trowa's body which laid out in front of him. Heero worshiped Trowa's body. He wanted to capture the beauty that was before him. He let his hands wander over exposed flesh, Trowa allowing Heero's hands to stray as they pleased along his torso, along his legs, along his shoulders.  
  
"You're so beautiful," Heero said.  
  
Trowa smiled, taking in Heero's throaty hoarse voice, the voice that baptized him with its every syllable. He closed his eyes, his cheeks flushing a pretty rose. Immediately, visions of Catherine's face as she walked in on their intimate moment flashed across the backs of his eyelids and his eyes snapped open.  
  
"Thank you, Heero," Trowa said softly, a whisper that only Heero could fully understand. "But shouldn't we...shouldn't you get started?" Trowa smiled a crooked, inadequate smile that hid nothing from Heero's wisdom. Heero nodded, and resumed his position at the easel, rinsing the brush that he'd labor with over his worthwhile subject.  
  
Heero dipped his brush into the paint, the tip of the brush turning a dull brown that match Trowa's sunned complexion. Heero didn't know if he could fully acquire all of what he loved about Trowa into the painting, but he wanted to try. And he would try until he was satisfied.  
  
He played with the shadows the candlelight cast across Trowa's skin, teasing Heero's eyes as they continued to dance. As Heero let the brush hit the canvas, the color spreading like fire across the canvas, he recalled his words to Trowa from what seemed like ages ago.  
  
//"The candlelight is fickle. Always changing, never pausing. Similar to life itself. There are many changes that can't be done over again. And these changes are continuous, like how the candles continue to burn."//  
  
"Heero?"  
  
Heero snapped out of his contemplation only to realize that Trowa was staring at him attentively. His brush was still on the canvas, the colors bleeding rapidly. He immediately dropped the brush and it clattered to the floor. Heero looked up sheepishly.  
  
"What were you thinking about?" asked Trowa as quietly as he always was.  
  
Heero paused, and looked down at his feet. "I was thinking about the past," he said, picking up the brush from the floor. "But no matter. It does no use to think of it now."  
  
Trowa decided he shouldn't say anything. He returned his head to its resting place, in the corner of the chair, and he stared at the same picture on the wall of Heero's room that he'd been staring at before. It was of a man, around his age, and of his stature, sitting between two women who were over dressed and quite distinguished looking. The man was dressed in a nobleman's attire; but something about him seemed misplaced. "Who is that man?" Trowa asked, staring at the picture on the wall.  
  
Heero looked up and met Trowa's gaze. He continued to paint. "He is of the past. It does no use to think of it now."  
  
Trowa didn't know what to say. He looked down at himself, his exposed body laying across the chair. He gazed around him, noticing all the fine luxuries that Heero look as daily annoyances.  
  
//What do I want from him?// Trowa asked himself for the first time. //It's no longer for money. At a time, it was for love. Now...now...I don't know what I want from him anymore. Perhaps love; but that only proves to be difficult as time has revealed.// Trowa felt tears burning in his eyes, not knowing how to stop them from sliding down his face as they had earlier before.  
  
Heero looked up to see wet trails upon Trowa's face, and his own face softened and he got up from where he sat to kneel in front of Trowa. Trowa didn't meet Heero's gaze and didn't respond to Heero at all, even as Heero began to stroke the side of his face with the back of a hand.  
  
"What's troubling you, Trowa?" Heero asked softly, fully knowing what was troubling the man in front of him.  
  
After some time, Trowa's lips moved the slightest bit, obviously in response. Heero leaned closer and asked Trowa to repeat what he had said.  
  
"Take me," Trowa said again, his request soft but demanding. "Now. Please."  
  
Heero was astonished. He hadn't expected Trowa to say anything like that...not at the current state that time had thrown them into. Trowa finally turned his head to face Heero, a look of desperation and lust in his eyes.  
  
"Please," Trowa repeated, reaching for Heero's face. "Please."  
  
Heero was about to protest, but he felt pressure at his neck. Before he knew quite what was taking place, his lips pressed against Trowa's, Trowa forcing their tongues to clash and war against each other. Heero pulled away.  
  
"Trowa..." Heero didn't know what to say or do, but Trowa sat up, taking a hand and pushing the hair out of his face. He now sat in front of Heero, legs spread invitingly, leaning over so that their faces were millimeters away.  
  
"Please take me, Heero," Trowa said, his voice quiet, but his demands becoming more and more fierce. His eyes darkened as Heero continued to look at him blankly.  
  
"Fuck me," Trowa whispered harsly.  
  
Heero couldn't hold back another second; he smashed his lips into Trowa's, pulling the boy's head down to meet his lips. Heero pulled Trowa off the chair and into his lap, leaning back against a nearby table. He ground rowa's groin into his own, the coarse fabric scratching at Trowa's bare skin. Trowa moaned into Heero's mouth, thrusting back with his own hips in earnest.  
  
//This is what I want...right?// he thought to himself as Heero began to touch him, the touch like fire that burned across his skin and pierced right through. //Yes. This is what I need.//  
  
Trowa began to squirm, the fire too much, but so fulfilling. He leaned back and let his head hit the floor, his back arching sharply as Heero began to attack his chest. Trowa began to scratch ferociously at the hardwood floor. "More," he groaned, squirming away. Heero released his hands, but Trowa took them in his own and began to move Heero's hands to grab at his waist.  
  
"Don't let go!" Trowa whispered, continuing to squirm and fight against Heero's grasp. "Hold me, keep me close, don't let me get away-"  
  
Heero tightened his grip on Trowa's hips, and began to lick lightly at Trowa's chest.  
  
"Harder!" Trowa sobbed. "I need it harder!"  
  
Heero began to scrape his teeth against Trowa's chest, the small whimpers and moans leading him to believe that he should stop. He tasted blood, but Trowa asked for more, gripping Heero's hands to his waist so hard, Heero knew that it would bruise.  
  
"Trowa," he said hoarsely. "I'm going to hurt you."  
  
"I don't care," Trowa breathed, tightening the grip on his hips. "Please...Hurt me...Break me! Heero, please!" He began to frantically writhe and twist in Heero's grasp, Heero biting down on Trowa's nipple as hard as Heero believed the man could take it. Trowa's back arched like a bow, his mouth opening to let loose a mute scream of pleasure.  
  
Heero pinned Trowa to the ground, Trowa continuing to thrash beneath him, his face flushed, his actions desperate. Trowa breathed heavily, sobbing now, wanting more of something he couldn't identify. He felt like he was burning, like he was freezing, like he was dying, like he was being born. He wanted to be hurt, to feel pain with pleasure, to feel pain itself, to be fucked. But he wanted something else, something he couldn't place. He grazed his nails along Heero's back, thrusting up wantonly against Heero's clothed erection. He began to tear at the material covering Heero's back.  
  
Heero straddled Trowa's waist, forcing Trowa to stay put as he removed his shirt and covered Trowa's body with his own flesh. Trowa began to moan and squirm again. It was all too much. It was all not enough.  
  
"Please!" Trowa begged for what he didn't understand, for what he didn't know. He writhed against Heero's body as their erections touched again, ice shooting up his back as his back bowed again. "Hold me!"  
  
Heero wrapped his arms around Trowa as Trowa's legs tightened around Heero's waist, thrusting up and engulfing Heero's erection without preparation. They both screamed in ecstasy, Trowa feeling more pain and pleasure than he'd ever felt before. "Harder! I need you to hold me harder!"  
  
Heero embraced Trowa tightly, so tightly he felt he would break the fragile boy, and he began to slowly thrust into Trowa's body. Trowa twisted in Heero's grasp.  
  
"Fuck me, Heero! God, PLEASE! PLEASE! Harder! Take all of me, please! Please!"  
  
Heero proceeded to fuck Trowa into the ground, squeezing him tightly as he pounded into the lithe body beneath him, Trowa panting hard and gasping for air, his whimpers becoming desperate moans for more.  
  
Trowa needed more, more of something, more of anything. He was relieved when Heero released him and threw him face down on the floor with all his strength, like a rag doll. He smiled as he felt Heero push his shoulders to the ground and pull his hips near Heero's erection again. Heero slammed into Trowa's body, keeping one hand against Trowa's shoulders, holding him down, and using the other to brace himself as he mercilessly thrust into the boy's tight passage, Trowa continuing to twist beneath him.  
  
"Yes! Yes!" Trowa chanted softly. "Yes, Heero, hard! Harder!"  
  
Heero grabbed Trowa's hair and pulled Trowa's head back, arching Trowa's back again as he continued to rap into Trowa's constricting chasm.  
  
"Don't stop! Please! Harder! I need it harder...fill me...please...God, PLEASE! Don't let go, please!!!" Trowa breathed harshly, his eyes fixed on the ceiling that had captured Heero's interest earlier that night.  
  
Heero didn't know if he should stop or if he should continue on...half of him was screaming at him to cease, as Trowa's passage became lubricated with blood, as Trowa's eyes began to appear empty and sated. The other half of him was screaming at him to continue, to grasp the boy's hair and tug violently, to tattoo Trowa's ass with his cock, to revel in the pleasure that he was experiencing.  
  
Trowa once again opened his mouth wide, a throaty nothingness emerging as his eyes rolled back into his head, the pleasure and pain connecting together in his heart and in his body. He knew what he wanted.  
  
He wanted Heero to hurt him, to abuse him, to be violent, to be brutal, fierce, dominant, and intense. He wanted pain. He wanted it to overcome the pleasure, the pleasure he shouldn't be feeling...should he be feeling pleasure?  
  
//No!// his mind screamed, and he thrust back against Heero, feeling Heero penetrate him deeply, and shamelessly asking for more, demanding for more.  
  
"Fuck me, Heero...god, yes, more, please, PLEASE! Make me bleed, make me hurt, make me feel pain, PLEASE!"  
  
Heero let go of Trowa hair and took Trowa's hips in both hands, his fingertips digging into Trowa's sides as Trowa let loose a soft moan. He pistoned his hips forward, pummeling Trowa hard and with more force than he believed he had. He wanted to inflict pain...why did he want to inflict pain? Was it because Trowa was taking it...and asking for more? Was it because he could? He didn't know, and didn't think about it any longer as he felt his climax approaching, speeding his thrusts and making Trowa sob openly against the floor, his side of Trowa's face audibly sliding against the wood, burning the skin from Trowa's face.  
  
"Yes! Please, more, please! I don't care if you break me, just PLEASE! I need you, please! Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me..." Trowa's demands became loud sobs of pleasure as he orgasmed, his seed splashing against the floor and beneath his knees which were bloody and bruised from their abuse they'd taken that night. With Trowa's release, Heero pounded a few more times into Trowa's body, the tightness over coming him and sending him spiraling off the edge. He slumped on top of Trowa's body, sending them both crashing to the ground in a puddle of semen, blood, and sweat. Their breath echoed throughout the room, and Heero looked over to see Trowa's eyes closed, unconsciousness taking over the man turned child in Heero's arms.  
  
----------  
  
Catherine laid in her bed, the sounds of what took place in the next room echoing in her ears.  
  
//I'll give him my trust,// she thought. //I'll give him my trust.//  
  
--to be continued-- 


	8. Candlelight Masterpiece 8

"Wake up, Catherine."  
  
Catherine shifted in her bed and pulled the covers over her head. "Mmrf," was the reply to her awakener.  
  
Heero smiled a small smile, continuing to stroke Catherine's back as he sat beside her on the soft comforter. "Come on, Catherine. We've got a big day ahead of us."  
  
Catherine's ears perked up. "What do you mean `a big day'?"  
  
"Can you take the covers off of your head so that I can show you?"  
  
Catherine hesitated, then reluctantly inched the sheets so that her eyes were revealed, heavy with sleep but still bright and curious. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes and blinking once or twice before being able to fully focus on Heero.  
  
Heero was dressed in a tan suit, tailored to fit his body perfectly. The soft ruffles on the collar of his shirt contrasted the sharpness of his jaw line. He sat very postured on the bed, holding a small box in his right hand while continuing to stroke Catherine's leg through the blankets with his right.  
  
"Good afternoon, malady," he said softly, scooting closer to her on the bed so that he could capture her lips in a soft kiss. She returned the kiss sleepily, smiling wide against Heero's lips.  
  
"If that's the way I'm to be awakened each morning, I would get up sooner," she said, pulling away and gazing happily into Heero's deep blue eyes.  
  
"Then I've found a strategy," Heero said, smiling, thrusting the box in Catherine's direction. "Open."  
  
Catherine gingerly took the box in her hands, pinching her fingers around one end of the blue satin ribbon that held the box in place and loosening the knot carefully. The ribbon fell gently onto the bedspread and Catherine lifted the lid of the box to find a pearl necklace. Between each milky white pearl glittered a small diamond. Catherine lifted the necklace out of the box, her fingers shaking. Heero took it from her and undid the clasp that held it together, standing to fasten it around Catherine's neck. Catherine sat on the bed motionless as she felt the precious stones lay her exposed neck, touching them tentatively. Heero finished clasping the necklace around her neck and sat in front of Catherine again, who looked up into his eyes with admiration, astonishment, and love.  
  
"Is it to your liking?" Heero asked, taking one of Catherine's hands and holding it in his own.  
  
Catherine continued to touch the necklace around her neck, fingering it delicately. "I-I don't know what to say."  
  
"Well, I was hoping you'd say 'why, thank you, Heero,'" Heero said, smiling.  
  
Immediately, Catherine rose from the bed and embraced Heero forcefully, knocking them both to the ground. Before Catherine could apologize, Heero captured her lips in his own, running his fingers through her auburn, bedridden hair. Catherine reached up to cradle the sides of Heero's face as she felt their tongues clash, Heero taking complete possession of her mouth. She needed it. She wanted it like this.  
  
She sat up atop the artist, straddling his hips as she parted her nightgown to reveal her body to Heero, planes of creamy white flesh exposed as her nightgown spilled around her and on the floor. Heero sat up slightly, pressing his lips to hers once more as his hands found her hips, then her bony ribs, then her firm breasts, rubbing the sides of them with his thumbs as he let his tongue massage hers.  
  
Catherine felt like she would die from the intensity of it all. She'd never been with someone so extreme, so concentrated. Heero's hands wandered to press against the surface of her back, slick already with the sweat of passion. She unbuttoned Heero's shirt, ripping from him the clothes that had made him appear so noble, so powerful, and reduced him to another human, like her, pure.  
  
Catherine's kisses were an aphrodisiac to Heero, drenching him with sensation and desire. Her soft, feather light kisses grew more and more persistent as they traveled further and further towards Heero's need. Heero's breath was now labored, set to an intense, heavy pace as he anticipated what was to come. As she journeyed down his chest and stomach, he felt the necklace dragging against him, a cold comfort from the heat that scorched from Catherine's lips.  
  
Catherine shifted her weight, her breasts resting on top of Heero's thighs as she took Heero's erection between her lips. She recalled those who told her that this was dirty, that it was wrong. But she couldn't think of anything at the moment that could be more right as she enveloped the head of Heero's cock in her mouth, running her tongue along the span of it and tasting all she could.  
  
Her virginal efforts were not in vain; Heero lay back with his mouth agape, silently screaming, his eyes burning into Catherine's as she continued to pleasure him with her lips, tongue, and mouth. Forcing her gag reflex to relax, she sheathed his erection fully in her mouth, her lips hitting soft brown curls as Heero's head hit the ground, grinding his groin against her lips. Soft sighs and moans escaped from his mouth as she became accustomed to his organ, sucking gently and experiencing it all for the first time.  
  
Heero felt his impending climax approaching and he warned Catherine beforehand; instead of retracting, she began to suckle vigorously, Heero beginning to twist on the floor. He sat up, leaning against one elbow and using the other hand to tilt Catherine's face up so that their eyes met. One look at Catherine, her lips wrapped around his cock and her head bobbing up and down, her curls tickling his pelvis, and Heero orgasmed, his ejaculate running down the back of Catherine's throat.  
  
Catherine didn't have any trouble swallowing Heero's essence, and she licked her lips clean, savoring the flavor that was truly Heero. She crawled into his arms and he accepted her gratefully, letting her mold into his body. He thanked her by planting small, loving kisses along her forehead as she lay her head against his chest. He felt the necklace cold against his chest, contrasting the warmth that Catherine's both provided against him as they lay naked with each other on the floor of the room.  
  
The silence that spread between them was of a peaceful kind, the kind one finds in the companionship of a fire; warm and comforting. Heero kissed Catherine atop her head and chuckled slightly.  
  
"If this is how you show your gratitude, I'll want to give you gifts all the time," he said.  
  
Catherine sat up on her elbows, holding her chin in her hands as she looked down at Heero, kissing him softly against his bruised lips. "Thank you," she said, manipulating the necklace between her slender fingers. "It's truly quite lovely."  
  
Heero looked up at Catherine, his head resting against the floor as he peered into her soft, becoming eyes, her curls dancing against his cheeks. "I'd like to paint you, Catherine."  
  
Catherine's eyes automatically lit up, smiling brightly. "Really?" she said.  
  
Heero almost laughed at her eagerness and he nodded, kissing her on her nose. "Yes."  
  
Catherine grinned even wider, pulling the sheets around her and Heero as she snuggled closer to him on the floor. "I don't mean to sound entirely superficial...but what am I to wear?"  
  
Heero laughed a little, causing Catherine's face to bounce from where it lay on his chest. "I propose the white gown we chose at the department store. With this." He looped his finger around the necklace, the diamonds glittering vibrantly.  
  
Catherine smiled, snuggling closer. "I'd like that."  
  
Suddenly, Catherine's stomach began to gurgle, causing Catherine to fly into a fit of embarrassed giggles. "I guess I'm kind of hungry."  
  
"Well, it IS almost two o' clock," Heero pointed out, stroking the back of her head as she began to sit up. "I'll make you something to eat."  
  
Catherine pulled her nightgown over her shoulders again, carefully buttoning each button as she felt the silky fabric envelop her again. "I'd like that," she repeated.  
  
----------  
  
Trowa was at the table as Heero entered the kitchen, his jacket off and his shirt disheveled. Trowa furrowed his brow as Heero swooped down to give him a quick kiss. Trowa pulled their faces together, loving the taste of Heero's lips each time they kissed.  
  
Only this time, they tasted different. Something was different, Trowa didn't know what.  
  
"You taste differently," Trowa said as Heero walked into the kitchen, opening the cabinets and pulling out various items to prepare food for Catherine.  
  
"Do I?" Heero said, taking the bread from the cabinet.  
  
"Yes." Trowa said nothing more, sipping his coffee and staring out the window at the hustle and bustle of Saturday afternoon passerbyers.  
  
"Hn." Heero made a sandwich for Catherine, picking up the plate and carrying it back towards Catherine's room. He turned around at the last minute to face Trowa, who still sat motionless, gazing out the window. "Oh, before I forget, I won't be working with you tonight."  
  
Trowa didn't tear his gaze from the window as he spoke to Heero. "You'll be using Catherine tonight?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Painting her?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Trowa nodded. Heero began to leave, but Trowa grabbed Heero's sleeve from behind him, holding Heero back. Heero tensed, then relaxed.  
  
"I've extinguished," said Trowa slowly, choosing his words carefully. "Perhaps one day I'll burn with you again."  
  
Heero began to protest, but Trowa held up a hand, letting go of Heero's sleeve.  
  
"Go to her." Trowa said nothing, sipping more coffee and letting the bitter flavor settle onto his tongue. He heard Heero walk away quickly, and shut the door to Catherine's room.  
  
Trowa sat back in his chair, letting the coffee mug sit on the table. He leaned over the table, his head in his hands.  
  
----------  
  
"Are you sure Trowa's all right on his own?" asked Catherine, fiddling with her gown. It was the white one that Heero had chosen for her, and she straightened the creases diligently as they rode together in the carriage. Heero had invited her to go to one of Madame Pomfrey's banquets, where Heero would be showcasing his work. Madame Pomfrey was one of the most established women in the nation, and she frequently invited Heero to her famous parties. He'd always gone alone; until now.  
  
"I'm sure he'll be all right; we've left him alone at the house before," Heero pointed out, kissing the side of Catherine's temple for reassurance.  
  
"I know...but he was acting kind of strange when we left." Catherine leaned back into Heero's arms, rubbing Heero's knee with her hand.  
  
"I don't know, but I'm sure he'll be fine."  
  
From outside the carriage, Heero heard a soft "whoa, girl" from Sebastian, and their carriage came slowly to a stop. He had to admit, Catherine looked beautiful. The low-set collar of her white gown framed her elegant neck and collarbone beautifully, and the bodice made her breasts especially full, accentuating her thin waist even more. Her small, feminine feet teetered in a the pair of heels he'd gotten for her as well-the heels Catherine had feared would make herself an embarrassment.  
  
The carriage door opened shortly after, Sebastian's warm, smiling face appearing. He gestured towards the entrance to the ball, which was decorated with beautiful, fragrant gardenias.  
  
"This way, Mr. Yuy and Miss Catherine," Sebastian said.  
  
Catherine was hesitant. "I'm not so sure about this anymore, Heero."  
  
Heero smiled, putting his hand on her shoulder. "It'll be all right, I promise. I'll be beside you the whole time."  
  
Catherine, feeling a little more assured, stepped tentatively out of the carriage and onto the cobblestone street. She maintained her balance and smiled as she picked up her dress and found her footing rather well.  
  
"Well, this isn't so difficult," she said to herself, Heero stepping out of the carriage and bidding Sebastian farewell, promising to meet Sebastian out in front of the building in three hours.  
  
Heero held out his arm, Catherine looping her arm through it and they walked up the stairs together, greeted by Madame Pomfrey herself. Catherine curtseyed politely and cautiously, careful not to fall. Heero took Madame Pomfrey's hand and kissed it lightly.  
  
"Good evening, Madame," Heero said.  
  
"Heero Yuy, a pleasure," said Madame Pomfrey. She smiled as she nodded towards Catherine, who smiled the smile that Heero adored. "And who would your lady for the evening be?"  
  
"This is Miss Catherine," said Heero. The two women nodded to each other politely. Madame Pomfrey returned her attention to Heero.  
  
"She's quite lovely, dear," she said, winking at Catherine who blushed faintly. "Are you thinking of finally settling down?"  
  
Heero smiled awkwardly. "Well, not yet, I'm afraid. But, yes, Miss Catherine deserves the highest praise; her beauty outmatches any woman's I've come across-except for yours of course, Madame."  
  
Madame Pomfrey laughed a deep belly laugh that Catherine enjoyed almost as much as the attention Heero was putting on her. "Heero, stop humoring me! And is this young lady to be the next subject of your work?"  
  
Heero nodded. "As a matter of fact, I've just decided to do so today."  
  
Madame Pomfrey smiled. "Splendid! I can't wait to see it displayed at my next soirée. Now, you two young ones go have fun! I'll see you inside a little later when dinner begins."  
  
Catherine said farewell politely and was lead into the large mansion by Heero, who supported her with his arm in case she were to topple, which was likely considering that Catherine was paying attention to everything but her footing. The fine garnishing, tapestries, and paintings that adorned the house were exquisite, the most expensive no doubt, and they captured Catherine's wonder as soon as her eyes laid upon them.  
  
"Heero, this is beautiful," she commented. Heero kissed the top of her head lovingly; where else would he find such naïve incredulity? He cherished it.  
  
"Let's dance, shall we?" Heero said, gesturing towards the dance floor.  
  
Catherine hesitated. "I might fall-"  
  
"Don't worry about it; just follow my lead, all right?"  
  
Catherine smiled at Heero's assurance. She trusted him. "Let's dance."  
  
----------  
  
Trowa sat in the corner of Heero's library, a room he liked to turn to while Heero was away. Books fascinated him--he'd never gotten to read much while traveling as much as he did, and he was making up for it now. Heero was lucky enough and well known enough that he received books by the dozen through the mail, each brown paper package Trowa treasured as he let his finger slide under the string to unwrap it carefully.  
  
He had just finished the latest novel, "A Tale of Two Cities," and he slid the book between two others of the same author. Dickens was it? He would have to remember later, but he was tired. He stretched his arms over his head, standing on his tip toes and feeling the muscles in his back and stomach loosen as he slumped back into the large leather arm chair of the library.  
  
He gazed around from where he sat in search of a new book. His eyes lazily scanned the titles for something interesting, when he came upon a leather bound book with nothing on its spine. Curious, he stood to fetch the book, and found that it was a photo album.  
  
Still curious, he sat back into the familiarity of the arm chair and brushed off the dust that had collected on the cover. He opened the cover, careful not to rip the spine which was rapidly deteriorating.  
  
To Trowa's surprise, the first page held a single picture of a young gypsy boy. Trowa squinted his eyes to see the picture better; the only means of light were by candlelight. He came to a realization so astonishing that he felt he had to study the picture more closely; but his assumptions were becoming truth. The same dark, intense eyes, the same square jaw, the same unruly hair--who else could it be but Heero?  
  
Trowa flipped through the album carefully, absorbing each image, drunk with the sights that he'd never be able to witness that had been part of the life Heero closed off from him.  
  
//Heero was a gypsy,// Trowa said to himself, the same repeated phrase that had been playing in his head for the past hours he'd been gaping at the album in his lap.  
  
Once he got past the initial shock, he flipped back through the pictures, noticing a reoccurring boy in the photos he'd become privy to. It was a tall, anything but lanky boy, muscle shown off by the fantastic contortionist work displayed in the photographs. The boy had Heero's intense eyes, and elegant strands of light-colored hair that wrapped around his body like a cloak. He looked a little older than Heero, but still looked under eighteen years of age. His eyes were fascinating to Trowa; they depicted a sense of precociousness that was shown in the way the boy glared at the camera.  
  
He was...animalistic.  
  
Trowa realized he'd seen this boy before.  
  
He slid the book back in place and left the library, careful to lock the doors with the key that Heero had privately given to him. Trowa walked up the stairs into Heero's study; he knew Heero didn't want him in there while he was gone, but he felt no guilt as he pushed the doors open and walked over to the painting on the wall that was the focus of his attention during last night's painting.  
  
It was the same man.  
  
Only this time, the man was considerably older...perhaps in his late twenties. Trowa gazed at the man who sat between two beautiful women, one of the women laying across his lap, the other standing behind the couch with his arms around the man's neck. The man's eyes were still intense, an icy blue Trowa discovered, despite the position he was in.  
  
The man also wore the clothes of...the clothes of people like Heero. Refined gentleman of the day; a black suit with a white shirt and a black tie, the dark colors of his attire contrasting the pale blonde of his hair.  
  
There were certain aspects about the man that reminded him of his own situation with Heero.  
  
Trowa sat back in the chair he had been posed in the night before. He leaned his head back against the cushion of the chair and closed his eyes. What did all of this tell him? Where is this man now, the man with the cold blue eyes?  
  
--to be continued-- 


	9. Candlelight Masterpiece 9

Heero returned with Catherine to the tables lined along the large, brightly lit ballroom. Guests swept across the floor, hand in hand. The artist and his date for the night sat beside each other lovingly, scooting their chairs closer together, Catherine taking one of Heero's hands and placing it in her own.  
  
Heero smiled warmly at the young girl who's forehead glowed with perspiration, her necklace shining brightly as well in the ballroom. He squeezed her hand gently, whispering in her ear.  
  
"It's almost midnight," he pointed out, nodding his head towards the large clock that was mounted on the far wall in front of them. "I'd still like to paint you; I don't want you to fall asleep on me."  
  
Catherine's eyes went wide, her attention immediately darting to the clock that Heero motioned towards. "Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know it was so late. Sebastian must be waiting for us." She began to get up; instead, she slipped on the heels that had caused her such worrisome ttention the whole night and she slid back into her seat accordingly with a small "oof!" escaping her lips.  
  
Heero chuckled. "Well, it could have been worse. You could have fallen out there." He pointed to the dance floor with the hand that was not helping to support Catherine. Catherine blushed furiously, eyes darting back and forth to make sure no one had seen her almost-disaster. Heero laughed quietly again, putting his arm around Catherine's waist and helping her stand, Catherine paying strict heed to her unsteady feet.  
  
Leaving with small farewells and eleventh-hour small talk, Heero and Catherine departed Madame Pomfrey's banquet and down the stony stairs to meet Sebastian at the bottom, waiting patiently for their return. Upon seeing Heero, descending the steps with an courteous and cautious arm around Miss Catherine's shoulders, he smiled lovingly and opened the carriage door.  
  
"Thank you, Sebastian," Heero said to Sebastian, motioning to his butler that he might need assistance to get Catherine into the carriage without hurting herself. She had had a few glasses of wine, and Heero learned that her alcohol tolerance was quite low; Trowa had told him that he and Catherine had drinks only on occasion--any more than that would threaten their acts as performance gypsies. Heero was beginning to regret not heeding Trowa's information as Catherine hit her head soundly on the ceiling of the carriage.  
  
"Ouch!" was her cry, and she rubbed the new bump on her head thoroughly. Heero and Sebastian exchanged a glance before soothing Catherine's pain and helping her climb into the carriage, which was apparently a very difficult feat for an agile gypsy performer under the influence.  
  
When Catherine was finally settled inside, Sebastian offered Heero a sympathetic smile as Heero climbed into the carriage besides Catherine. Catherine immediately snuggled into the crook of Heero's neck, breathing in his heavy scent as she closed her eyes. Heero shook her slightly, laughing lightly.  
  
"Don't fall asleep yet," he ordered gently. "You're my work of art for tonight, remember?"  
  
Catherine smiled again, her teeth pressing against Heero's neck. "I remember."  
  
After several minutes, Catherine struggling to keep her eyes open and Heero consistently assuring her they'd be home soon, they arrived at Heero's abode. Heero helped Catherine up the stairs and to her room, advising her to clean herself up before coming into his room. Catherine agreed, stepping over a slumbering Trowa who lay on the floor to get to the powder room. Heero watched her stumble with a smile on his face before he turned to leave the room.  
  
Before he left, he knelt beside Trowa who slept heavily, his chest rising and falling as he slept. Heero brushed a few strands of hair from Trowa's face, smiling as the gypsy wrinkled his nose. Heero planted a small kiss on that troubled nose before standing and preparing for the night's painting.  
  
Catherine stood in the powder room that was connected to her bedroom. Through her hazy vision, she was introduced to a self she was unaware existed. Her eyes were bloodshot; her skin pallid. She frantically attempted to cake make up on her face to resolve her self-induced beauty flaws.  
  
//I can't believe I let myself get like this,// she scolded herself, applying a foundation two shades lighter than needed to her already pale, almost transluscent face.  
  
When she believed she'd hidden all of her natural features behind a variety of makeup, she smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, the collar stained a bit with wine. She decided not to be bothered with it. Catherine made her way to Heero's bedroom on sturdy feet, her heels discarded in the powder room.  
  
Heero heard the clear, yet hesitant knock on the door, knowing it was Catherine-it was so different than Trowa's quiet, but presistant knock. He beckoned Catherine to enter, and she did so quickly, her stockinged feet pitter-pattering against the polished wooden floor.  
  
The look on Catherine's face was one of wariness and hope of approval. Heero regarded her with a complimentary smile, motioning for her to sit among the blood red draperies that flowed behind the upholstered chair where she sat. She gripped the mahogany arms and tapped her fingers on them lightly, waiting for Heero's guidance.  
  
"You're fine where you are," Heero said, answering her silent questions. He stood and relit the flame of an extinguished candle, blown out by the wind that flowed through the open window. He closed the window accordingly, the darkness of the room remedied by the ever-present candlelight.  
  
Heero finished altering the light to his taste and turned around to face his anxious subject. She nibbled her bottom lips nervously.  
  
"Relax, Catherine." He stepped towards her, pushing her tensed shoulders down. "It's okay. It's just a painting; you'll be sitting for awhile, so you don't want to be uncomfortable, okay?"  
  
Catherine relax, releasing her shoulders. She put her hands in her lap, folding them over each other. "Is this alright?" she asked.  
  
Heero tilted his head to the side. "Perfect."  
  
He shot Catherine a reassuring smile before sitting down in front of his easel. Rinsing his hands in the bowl of water he kept by the table nearby, he shook his hands out, water splattering on the floor sporadically. Heero peered around the easel, sensing Catherine's discomfort.  
  
"Look at something behind me," Heero said, dipping his brush into a few paints to try to concoct a mixture of creams that would compliment Catherine's complexion. "Fix your focus on a point and don't let it leave there; most people I paint find it hard to be under my scrutiny." He winked playfully at Catherine, and touched the brush tentatively to the canvas, making the first brush strokes.  
  
Catherine obeyed Heero's advice and fixed her eyes on the far wall, specifically on a painting. She narrowed her eyes a bit to see the people painted, but she couldn't make out facial features from where she sat and in the light cast so dimly around her. She just knew the figure sitting in the middle of the picture, the center of attention, had beautiful golden blonde hair.  
  
She didn't bother to ask who the person was--she just didn't have the energy. Her eyes began to droop and the more she attempted to keep them open, the more they willed to shut like iron doors. She finally gave in, her eyes fluttering shut and her head nodding forward.  
  
Heero had first painted Catherine's elegant collarbone, her best feature in his opinion. When he looked up from the easel, he found the collarbone in its original position--but not Catherine's face. She was slumped over in the chair, her shoulders rising slightly with each heavy breath as she slept. Heero sighed and smiled, noticing how innocent and beautiful Catherine looked as she slept.  
  
//I suppose most people are in their utmost untainted state while in their sleep,// he thought, not stopping his painting process and continuing to illuminate the canvas with Catherine's comeliness.  
  
He realized in this pure, immaculate state, how much he'd corrupted Catherine. The wine that stained her dress was a dull sanguine, the color of the draperies, the color of blood. Around her neck was the necklace he'd given her that morning, along with several others he'd purchased for her, all in his attempt to give her the life she never had. They didn't glitter and gleam as much as they once had; as much as she had thought they did.  
  
//Her life was satisfying before I came along,// he thought to himself, standing. //I dirtied her. She and Trowa would have been better off without me...//  
  
He approached the girl heavy with sleep, and he quietly removed her jewelery from her neck, the rings from her fingers, and even some of the makeup from her face. He wanted her untouched.  
  
He began to paint again, painting well into the early hours of the morning. The dark circles under her eyes, her full, naturally lucious lips, her flushed cheeks, her pale ivory skin--this is what he wanted to see. Not the things that he'd given her, but what she'd given him. His arm felt free, like it never had before. Before, he'd painted with a tense hand, fingers bruising with the force he used to grip the brush, his hold unsteady and labored. Now, his arm, his elbow, his hand, his fingers, and the brush worked as one organism that flowed like the tide, weaving in and out in a steadfast pace that, for the first time in a long time, was natural.  
  
He finished the painting, sitting back and stretching towards the ceiling. His muscles ached and his eyes were sore from squinting in the darkness; most of the candles had burned out already. He shamefully admired his own painting; he was quite happy about it, because it had turned out quite well. He'd even painted the jewelery by her feet; he wanted to show the world that he found natural beauty in this girl and any additions would be entirely unnecessary.  
  
Sighing, he stood and walked over towards Catherine, still sound asleep. He lifted her effortlessly from the chair and onto his bed, pulling the covers over her bare shoulder where the collar of the dress had slipped and fell down the milky span of skin. Her auburn curls spread like fire across the pillow, licking at the sheets. Heero stood to admire her for a few fragile moments, then walked out of the room to look in on Trowa.  
  
He walked silently on bare feet to Trowa's room; upon arriving, he opened the door silently to find Trowa still asleep. The gypsy's soft brown hair covered his face, his bare shoulders and chest glowing in the dark of the room. Heero sucked in a breath, taking in the beautiful angles and curves of Trowa's lithe body; the muscles that stretched across his back and shoulders, the slender waist leading to narrow hips that lead to long, muscular legs that were covered by a thin sheet. Trowa's skin was covered in goosebumps, but he was unaware of the chill that hung in the air that resulted from the bitter weather outside.  
  
Heero let the doorway cradle his figure, his slacks unbuttoned and hanging on his lips. He didn't touch Trowa; he didn't want to ruin the image before him. Instead he stood and stared lovingly, stared adoringly. He didn't know what to do or what to say; he could only stand and do nothing. He didn't know how he could win Trowa's love back. He recalled Trowa's words...  
  
//"I've extinguished; perhaps one day I'll burn with you again."//  
  
Those were words that set him free and imprisoned him tightly at the same time. He looked on, the realization finally hitting him that Trowa wouldn't be a part of his life that he needed. He needed love, and he found it in Trowa. Catherine gave him...Catherine gave him the gift of life. The gift of childish wonderment and fascination. The gift of seeing things with new, accepting eyes; the gift of simple pleasures. He loved Catherine for this gift.  
  
But from Trowa, it was the gift of love. Trowa wasn't a simple pleasure; he was a rather complex enigma that endlessly captivated and enthralled Heero with Trowa's everyday choices. He was the catalyst that helped Heero learn to love himself again; and learn to love others as well. He had embraced Trowa; and unwillingly hurt him in the process. Heero didn't know what to do with his feelings; he didn't even know if he COULD do anything. He just knew that he had to get Trowa back into his arms, among the candlelight and among the flame.  
  
The desperation was killing him. He'd never felt this way about anyone--the sacrifices he was willing to make, the hopeless heartache.  
  
Trowa awakened to the sounds of light laughter. It was coming from the kitchen.  
  
He stretched languidly, and stood on wobbly legs, similar to a newborn fawn. He slipped on a robe over his naked torso, and walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.  
  
Heero and Catherine were at the table, sharing coffee and eggs. Sebastian had this back turned to Trowa, prodding something in the wood oven with a knife.  
  
"Good morning," Trowa greeted, happy to see such a smile on Catherine's face. Catherine grinned at her brother, and stood, running to Trowa to embrace him warmly.  
  
"Good morning, Trowa!" Catherine said softly, her voice like a whisper across his ears. He smiled; Catherine had been noticably happier the past few days, and seemed particularly gleeful that morning, considering she had never awoken before Trowa had.  
  
Trowa realized he hadn't been awake to see the sun rise for the past couple of weeks; this fact bothered him. What had become routine and tradition had vanished under a pile of attention and material things.  
  
"Good morning, Trowa," echoed Heero. Heero, however, looked extremely fatigued, altough his eyes continued to shine brightly as he passed a mug into Trowa's hands with warm coffee steaming in it. The mug immediately warmed Trowa's icy hands, and he nodded his greetings and thanks.  
  
He took his time to sit, bracing one arm on the table and placing his mug on the table. Catherine was the first to speak her voice excited and hurried.  
  
"Trowa, Heero has a display in a week!" Catherine announced. "It's a whole showing of just his work!" She grinned broadly, rubbing Heero's hand with her own encouragingly.  
  
Trowa stared at their contact as he replyed, "Congratulations, Heero."  
  
Heero didn't smile, following Heero's eyes to his hand that was linked with Catherine's. He swallowed. "Thank you, Trowa. And because I have a showing in a week, I'll need some new work to display."  
  
"And he wants to use us in all his paintings!" Catherine interrupted. "Think of it, Trowa! We'll be displayed in the houses of all the rich people we envied when we were young." Realizing Trowa wasn't reacting with the amount of encouragement she believe he would, she paused and cocked her head to the side. "Arent you honored, Trowa?"  
  
Trowa nodded, eyes still fixed on the linked hands of the artist and his sister. "I am. Thank you, Heero. When would you like for us to begin?"  
  
Heero swallowed again. "Tonight. Midnight."  
  
Catherine patted Heero's hand lovingly. "I still don't understand why you insist on starting work so late." She turned to Trowa. "I was so tired last night when we came back from the banquet that I fell asleep when Heero was painting me! And he painted me anyway!"  
  
Trowa attempted to smile, the muscles in his cheeks pulling at the sides of his mouth with no avail. "I'm sure it turned out beautiful, Catherine," Trowa said. He locked eyes with Heero's wary gaze.  
  
"Well, I'm no critic, but it really is quite lovely. I think I look more becoming in the painting than in reality." Catherine laughed her sweet laughter that was filled with honey.  
  
Heero squeezed Catherine's hand assuringly. "I think it turned out quite nicely." He turned towards Trowa. "On second thought, your sister's probably right. How about coming into my room at around ten? We'll have time to talk and prepare before we get started." He eyed Trowa nonchalantly, with a hint of encouragement in one cobalt blue eye.  
  
Trowa nodded, taking a quiet sip from his coffee before replying, "I'd like that."  
  
--to be continued-- 


	10. Candlelight Masterpiece 10

The old watchful grandfather clock announced the inevitable chime of ten o'clock, time being impeccably-and sometimes annoyingly-reliable as it always was. Trowa sat on the edge of his bed, each of the ten chimes signaling a new image of his life with Heero to flash before his eyes in the blink of an eye.  
  
//One.// His first meeting with Heero-the first introduction to the smooth intense cobalt eyes he had felt bore into his very soul, as if reading his every reaction and need.  
  
//Two.// The walk to Heero's house, in the rain-how the rain seemed to clear up as soon as they stepped out onto the main road as if clearing a way to a new beginning.  
  
//Three.// The first glance out of Heero's kitchen window, looking down on the hustle and bustle of the people he had once belonged to, looking up at people like Heero and wishing they were there-and knowing that he was where he had always wanted to be.  
  
//Four.// When Heero had left the formal clothes on Trowa's bed, Trowa fingering the fabric that was so unlike anything he'd ever felt.  
  
//Five.// The first time he posed for Heero and the look on Heero's face, a look he'd never been familiar with before. He was to learn later that it would be a look of desire.  
  
//Six.// Heero's face as he thrusted into Trowa's body, a face of severity and lust, the sweat from Heero's forehead dripping onto their bodies as Heero continued to rap into his constricting chasm.  
  
//Seven.// Catherine's eyes as they sparkled when Heero had announced that he planned to buy her a new dress.and remembering how just days before, people of Heero's status were the people they, the gypsies, had once condemned.  
  
//Eight.// Catherine's eyes, full of fear as she was wrapped in Heero's bed sheets, darting across the sight of Heero kissing her brother on the floor of the bedroom.  
  
//Nine.// Heero's hesitant, then forceful hands groping his young body hardened from the gypsy life, embedding into his skin as he screamed for anything and nothing.  
  
//Ten.//  
  
The final chime awakened Trowa from his dazed state; Trowa shook his head lightly, then adverted his gaze to his sister who slept soundly beside him on the bed. He looked down on her slumbering form. She looked happy, happier than he had ever seen her before. He smiled, brushing away an auburn curl from her face and rising from the bed. He proceeded to Heero's room with a confident countenance and a pounding pulse.  
  
He raised his fist to knock on the door, but he let his fist hover in the air to avoid hitting a note that was tacked to the door.  
  
"Come in, close the door - H."  
  
//So personal, Heero,// thought Trowa, quietly turning the knob.  
  
Upon entering, he saw that the entire room was awash in the light of a single candle that burned ardently on the table where Heero placed his watercolors. Heero sat still, opting for an arm chair instead of his usual stool, and Trowa could only view the back of the man's head as he closed the door just as quietly as he had opened it.  
  
"Come sit," he heard Heero say, his voice somewhat hoarse, a quiet susurration that resounded throughout the large studio space. Trowa took cautious steps towards Heero, his feet bare and nearly inaudible as he advanced. He took a seat in front of Heero, his eyes struggling to focus on the artist.  
  
Heero's head rested against the back of the chair, his hair hanging in his face like dried tobacco. Through the strands, Trowa saw tired, almost dead, dull blue eyes. The first feeling that stirred within Trowa was fear; he had never seen Heero's eyes anything but intense. They were almost indifferent, nonchalant.  
  
What made Trowa's face twist in confusion was Heero's hands. One rested on a satin-covered thigh; the satin pants of a gypsy. The other hand reached out to Trowa, asking for acceptance as it hovered in the air in front of Trowa's face.  
  
They sat close, Trowa slowly reaching up to grab Heero's hand, clasping it in his own tightly. Heero pulled on Trowa's hand, forcing the boy to lean closely towards him. Heero pulled Trowa's hand to his face, leaning his jaw line into the gypsy's calloused hand. Heero closed his eyes.  
  
"It has seemed so...long since I felt your touch," Heero said, his voice hardly above a whisper, yet it seemed still to echo forcefully throughout the room.  
  
Trowa said nothing, his face shooting questions at Heero. Why was he dressed this way? Why was he being so kind? So different?  
  
"I don't know how you feel," Heero said softly. "But the past few days have been long ones. Something about you." He stopped rubbing his face against Trowa's hand and opened his eyes, locking with Trowa's confused emerald gaze.  
  
"With you, I don't feel alone. Your sister brings me joy; joy that I've never experienced before. Her childlike naïvete, her love and appreciation for new things; those are possessions I could only dream of having.  
  
"But you, Trowa.you give me something far different. You give me life. I was so...so lonely, I suppose. And I had made myself that way." He kissed each of Trowa's knuckles, Heero's hands trembling as his fingers grasped Trowa's hand carefully. "But you gave me a chance not to be lonely anymore." He smiled as he released Trowa's hand. Heero stood, walking away from where he and Trowa sat, and began to circle the room in a lazy, disorganized pattern.  
  
"I found the albums in my library out of place on the shelf; I suppose that's what you've been questioning. From the look on your face, I suppose it's what you're questioning now."  
  
Trowa couldn't see Heero's face as he talked, only the silhouette of Heero's sturdy, agile figure as it paced around the room. He listened closely to the soft, throaty growls that emerged from Heero's throat. His own throat had suddenly become dry, the air giving every word he tried to speak a hard, thin flavor; he decided to remain silent.  
  
Heero stopped pacing to stand by the window. He gazed down at the cobblestone streets, hearing the faint clomping of horses' hooves approaching. The song of the cobblestones became louder and louder, Heero closing his eyes once again.  
  
"I don't have any recollection of my past, of my parents and, if any, brothers or sisters I may have had. I don't know my family." He ran his hands along the window sill, scratching his fingers nervously against the wood. "From what I was told, my father worked in the oil industry; his company was put out of business by Rockefeller and he had to move to find more work. They left me behind, on our old doorstep, until someone took me in-the gypsies.  
  
"From then on, they were my family. They loved me like a brother, and it was how I had always known it to be. When I discovered what `real' families were, I didn't really question why I had only known the gypsies as my family; I just assumed that there was always a good reason that I wasn't with my real family anymore.  
  
"My skill, my talent-the flair I needed to live on-was art. Painting. I discovered I could paint rather well by the time I was ten. I was painting for a living by the time I was twelve, and sold my paintings for a nickel each, perhaps a dime. A quarter on a good day. The rest of the train was glad that I had found something that I liked to do that paid rather well; I was one more mouth to feed among the lot of us.  
  
"We stopped here, in New York, when I was fifteen. We had set up in front of a square. There were more people than I had ever laid eyes upon, which meant more money than I'd ever hoped to possess." He stopped speaking, opening his eyes and looking out the window at the lone carriage that rolled by, the horses' pace growing loud, then soft again as it disappeared into the distance.  
  
"I was greedy then; I didn't know what I wanted, only that I wanted something more. A man approached me and placed five hundred dollars in my hand, asking if he could mentor me. He told me his name was Milliardo, and he asked me if I would work under his supervision. In those days, money...well, it was everything. And I accepted, leaving the gypsy train that night. I.I haven't seen them since.  
  
"Don't get me wrong," Heero said suddenly. "I cherish the life I had with the gypsies. They gave me a family-a place where I felt I belonged. And that was what I needed most of all, I guess, although I didn't realize it until I was much older; home is a very difficult place to define.  
  
"Milliardo and I...we learned to accept each other's lifestyles, learning to know about how each of us became the people we were. He was fascinated with the gypsy life; he wanted to learn as much as he wanted to teach me. His family owned a community theatre that was soon becoming the largest theatre company in the nation. He'd been an artist for as long as he could remember; but he had been infected with an incurable disease...a disease of the muscles. He couldn't steady his hands; they shook and convulsed. How was he to hold a paintbrush? A charcoal?"  
  
Heero closed his eyes, images of the times spent with his mentor flashing through his head like a picture show at the nickelodeon.  
  
"So he opted to teach. He would live vicariously through me, I suppose, the life he wanted to have but just could not.  
  
"He taught me everything I would need to know about how to succeed. Among other things.he taught me more about art than what I would have learned with the gypsies. And as I grew older...the relationship we had grew stronger, I suppose. I learned that in some areas of the field, I could surpass him. We were no longer mentor and student; we were teacher and teacher, student and student. Most importantly, as the years passed...we became lovers."  
  
Trowa's eyes widened, but he said nothing, continuing to listen, engrossed.  
  
"Milliardo was my first lover; the one who taught me more than just the art of a brush. He taught me the art of appreciation, the art of learning-the art of loving. He was a beautiful man; so learned in everything, so...venerable in his young age. He was in his late twenties; to some it would be considered immoral. But to us...it was an expression that could not be captured by a paintbrush, far too sacred for a canvas. We gave each other the things we needed in life-I, a family, and he, a talent-and we shared these with each other."  
  
In the barely lit room, Trowa could just glimpse the way Heero's eyes began to darken as the hoarse voice began to speak again.  
  
"He had another student, by the name of Judas. Judas was...of the jealous sort. He possessed talent, but he didn't...love it the way Milliardo did. Milliardo taught him to better himself with each stoke of the canvas; Judas threw all his words away, calling them fairy tales and rubbish. Soon, Milliardo became upset with Judas and refused to teach him unless he learned to appreciate what painting was, what it represented-a world unlike any other.  
  
"Judas refused to submit to Milliardo, and chose to retaliate. He and I had never questioned Milliardo's past, his family, accepting what Milliardo had told us as truth. The truth was discovered that before Milliardo's family had come to wealth, they were gypsies as well."  
  
Trowa's breath caught in his throat. It was all so similar...so familiar...  
  
"Judas revealed this to the appropriate people; Milliardo's parents were shunned from society, their rapidly growing theatre company shut down. Gypsies were about as accepted as mules, in those days, and it still continues today. Milliardo had nowhere to go. I realized why Milliardo would be sympathetic to the gypsy life. I realized why he loved me all the more. And I realized that I think I loved him more as well."  
  
Heero swallowed, turning towards Trowa, pointing his focus to the wall behind the confused boy.  
  
"Milliardo is the man you see there." Heero nodded his head towards the portrait of the man with the flowing blonde hair. He approached the painting carefully, fingering the frame. "I painted this when we first met. He was beautiful. He was a masterpiece himself. He was art." Heero looked down, then made eye contact with Trowa.  
  
"Later on, Milliardo and his family were driven away from the city; I haven't seen him since. The last night we spent together was in the Ruins, on the outside of the city. We painted together; I guided his hands so he could paint once more. The dream he could never fulfill."  
  
He knelt before Trowa, suddenly, clasping Trowa's hands in his own. "Trowa, I don't expect you to fulfill my dreams. I don't expect to fulfill yours. But perhaps we can learn from each other what we've lost-or what we haven't had the time to want. What I had with Milliardo was love; I thought I'd never find it again. But I found it in you. Perhaps...perhaps one day..."  
  
He choked, his throat stricken with sobs as he cried in Trowa's lap. Heero felt so weak, so tired, so...relinquished. He cried in great heaving sobs, crying into Trowa's leg, soaking Trowa's pants with the tears that had been held back for so many years. They were free now, flowing heavily down Heero's cheeks. Trowa tentatively put a hand on the back of Heero's head, sliding his fingers through the brown silk of Heero's hair.  
  
Trowa didn't know what to do. He didn't know what he could do. But he continued to sit, stroking Heero's hair, murmuring comforting noises into Heero's ears that were drowned out by Heero's continual howls of pain and sadness and helplessness.  
  
Heero heard his own voice screaming at himself. //Why are you crying? What do you cry for? Do you have no dignity? No pride? No stability?// Heero continued to cry, finding it difficult to breathe as he heaved for each strangled breath.  
  
"Heero," Trowa finally said, after several long minutes. Heero refused to look at Trowa, sobbing into Trowa's lap.  
  
"Heero," Trowa repeated, with more force. He tilted Heero's head up with an index finger, and Heero looked into Trowa's eyes, lips still trembling and small mewling noises emerging from the back of his throat.  
  
Trowa had never seen anything like it.  
  
"Heero, you have to get a hold of yourself," Trowa said softly and carefully, so as to not break the already fragile state Heero had fallen into. "Why are you crying?"  
  
Trowa's voice echoed Heero's own that continued to scream at him, harshly. "I don't know," he answered softly, his cries dying down. "I don't know."  
  
"I don't know what you want from me, Heero," Trowa said, brushing Heero's hair from his face and out of his moist blue eyes.  
  
"Please..." Heero said. "Pose for me...just once more. I want to show...you so much...so much of something I can't put into words-only into art."  
  
Trowa considered Heero's request, then nodded. He saw the glow of Heero's eyes as the candlelight caught up to them, and Heero attempted a smile, failing. He leaned forward, Trowa pulling away slightly.  
  
"Not yet," Trowa said. "You asked me to pose for you. I agreed. Maybe, after the sitting.I'll decide to grant more of your wishes." Trowa smiled slyly.  
  
Heero returned the smile, Trowa's eyes reflecting the candlelight like cat's eyes. "Yes."  
  
-----  
  
Heero had never felt so concentrated, so fierce, as his brush darted across the canvas, splashing color across the once white spans. His brow furrowed, sweat beading on his forehead, some dripping off his brow and onto the painting itself, causing the oils to blend together. He worked by the light of a single candle, whose flame was almost burned out as the wick grew shorter and shorter, the hours flying by.  
  
He captured every detail, every specific feature of Trowa's form, taking delight in sculpting the sharp angles of his muscles, the softness of his hair, and the strong, determined jaw of Trowa's face. Everything about Trowa screamed power and elegance; Heero would have him no other way.  
  
Trowa skin was bare, the single light from the candle casting odd shadows across the planes of his chest, his legs, his arms, and his face. He lay atop the draperies that once hung from the wall, lounging across them on his left side. He sat up on his elbow, muscles in his sides flexing and rippling. His left leg was stretched out, the other leg bent so that his right foot was snuggled in the draperies. His chin was up, defiant, and he smiled seductively.  
  
By his left foot lay a violin, propped up against and placed atop of aged sheet music, yellow and thin at the edges. His right hand held a single red rose, dried and so fragile that Trowa felt if he didn't hold it as delicately as possible, the entire flower would crumble in his fingers.  
  
Trowa felt dominant, prevailing. His head held high, hair falling instinctively over one eye, his lips curled into an alluring smile as he watched Heero become more and more intense with every stroke of the paintbrush on the canvas. He watched, engrossed, as Heero dipped the paint- stained brush into a clear jar of water to be rinsed, the color staining the water in clouds of blacks, browns, greens.  
  
Heero felt more anxious, more passionate than he'd ever felt in his life as his eyes darted back and forth from the provocative man who lay before him and the canvas that held the purpose of his heart. He detailed every strand of Trowa's chocolate hair, each bead of sweat that fell from Trowa's forehead as the room was suddenly smoldering from the single candle that flickered across Trowa's form, each ripple of smooth bronze skin. He carved every muscle in Trowa's agile body, the petals of the rose laying against Trowa's taut stomach and casting an ever-present shadow across Trowa's chest.  
  
Heero drank the images with fervor. Equipped with his paintbrush, Heero's fingers created the god Heero thought Trowa to be, displayed on the canvas as honest and as true and pure as Heero wanted him to be. He finished the painting, sitting back to scrutinize his work. He found that something was missing. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.  
  
Trowa eyed Heero with a puzzled look, noticing that Heero was staring at the painting quite strangely. Suddenly, a look of realization hit Heero, and he looked up at Trowa and smiled slyly.  
  
He dipped his brush into ink black paint, twirling the brush in the solution so that each side of the brush would have an equal amount of paint. He slowly and carefully, beginning at Trowa's right shoulder, began to draw wings. He almost chuckled to himself; making Trowa the god of love, Eros, was the last thing he'd ever think of doing. But somehow it fit. Eros brought love to those who searched and yearned for it, as Trowa gave him that gift as well. He outlined each exquisite feather, each subtle hint of the wind catching each quill. The wings spread out and around Trowa, hovering over the boy's body like a shield.  
  
He stood, approaching the corner of his room where he kept various, trivial things he didn't want to throw away. He searched through the area thoroughly, Trowa frowning and cocking his head slightly, questioning Heero's reasoning. Heero emerged from the corner with two small, thin walking sticks.  
  
"Keep your hand the way it was.only hold these," he ordered, positioning Trowa's hand just right and closing the man's fingers over the canes.  
  
Trowa nodded, not understanding everything but trusting that Heero had good intentions.  
  
//Trust,// Trowa repeated to himself. //Do I trust him?//  
  
Heero resumed his seat in front of the canvas, picking up a towel that lay in a bunch by his paints. He used it to wipe the sweat from his forehead, then discarded it on the floor. With careful precision, he sketched out the walking sticks, avoiding the curved ends. Instead of handles that were held onto, he painted arrowheads made to pierce flesh. He painted Trowa grasping the arrows of the god of love, lazily holding them between his fingers. They threw sharp shadows across Trowa's chest that Heero immediately fixed, wanting each and every detail of the elegant boy to be portrayed magnificently.  
  
He pored over his painting, eyes roaming frantically and with concentration.  
  
His masterpiece was complete.  
  
He sat back with a long sigh, smiling with ecstasy. "I'm done," he announced.  
  
Trowa smiled a softer smile, placing the walking sticks aside and stretching out on the draperies. His muscles were sore and cramped, and he arched his back languidly, small mewls emerging from the back of his throat from the effort.  
  
None of this went unnoticed by Heero who watched his subject stretch before him captivatingly. His thoughts were interrupted by Trowa's request to see the painting. Trowa took a robe that hung from the bedpost and wrapped it around his body, keeping his arm crossed over his chest. Heero nodded, scooting his chair back against the wooden floor to invite Trowa to view himself the way Heero saw him.  
  
Trowa approached the canvas with no expectations. What he found startled him at first; the understanding of meaning caught his breath. He examined himself, sprawled out and exposed among the blood red draperies. It was the first painting where Trowa actually looked the part of a gypsy, instead of pretending to be a nobleman. His head was proudly held high, his shoulders elegant.  
  
What fascinated Trowa were the wings that spread across his back. Beautiful silken feathers sheltered him, framing his body appealingly. He discovered the walking canes were arrows; upon this realization, he turned to Heero, a look of astonishment on his face.  
  
"Eros?" Trowa questioned.  
  
Heero nodded, eyes adverted. "Does it please you?"  
  
Trowa looked on, not taking his eyes from the canvas. "Yes," he said quietly. "It does."  
  
He saw a look of relief wash over Heero's face and a smile of satisfaction settle along the artist's lips. "Thank you, Trowa."  
  
Trowa approached Heero, taking a seat on one of Heero's legs. Heero looked up at Trowa, startled at the man's actions. //Is Trowa....is he...what does he mean...does he want to...what does he want?//  
  
Trowa cradled Heero's face in his hands, the rough pads of his fingers sliding along Heero's jaw line. Heero looked into Trowa's eyes, eyes darting from one of Trowa's emerald eyes to another. Trowa's own eyes scanned over Heero's face, as confused as he once was. Trowa found that he wasn't confused at all.  
  
Slowly, taking his time, Trowa pressed his lips to Heero's. Heero's lips were as soft as they had been the first time they'd kissed, the first time they'd made love. They both closed their eyes involuntarily, reveling in the sensations they didn't realize how much they grieved for. Heero's hands came up to grasp Trowa's waist, sliding down to take hold of a creamy thigh, exposed by the part in the front of Trowa's robe. They parted to gaze into each other's eyes, azure meeting verdant.  
  
"I love you, Heero," Trowa said softly, affirming everything he had questioned the past few days.  
  
Heero's eyes brightened, his lips forming an honest smile that would be embedded in Trowa's mind forever. "And I you."  
  
Trowa shifted his weight, straddling Heero's hips as he brushed his lips to Heero's again, their tongues tasting each other's mouths, drowning in the unique flavors they found there. Trowa ground his groin into Heero's, both men releasing a sigh as the room became blistering, the air having a vehement flavor of its own.  
  
The single candle that had watched over the two men the entire night finally died out, the light growing dimmer and dimmer until finally the room was rich with darkness.  
  
-to be continued- 


	11. Candlelight Masterpiece 11

Trowa stood, back against an upright wooden board. His breathing was slow and rhythmic, his pulse steady and sure. He began to close his eyes, then decided to stare dead ahead at his attacker—his sister. Yet, he made no move to resist, just stood defiantly and fearlessly.  
  
Catherine held the knives in her hand, a few onlookers behind her curious enough to stay until the act was finished; then, some would leave some spare pocket change, others would simply leave. She held the knife in her hand, visually marking the knife's path in her head. She let her arm pull back and fly forward, releasing the knife with nimble, precise fingers.  
  
Trowa didn't flinch as the knife slammed into the board, inches away from his cheek. He had never flinched before, and wasn't going to anytime soon.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Trowa awoke, eyes shooting open. He blinked twice and he realized he was in Heero's room, Heero's chin resting on top of his head and Heero's arms around him securely. He sighed, closing his eyes again and attempting to return to the realm of sleep.  
  
Heero sensed that his lover had awakened and gently nudged Trowa's shoulder, letting the other know that he was awake as well. Trowa lifted his head to gaze at Heero, only to meet Heero's soft, gentle kiss. Trowa closed his eyes as their lips met in a tender, lazy kiss.  
  
Heero couldn't have thought of a better way to awaken and be awakened; with Trowa in his arms. They broke the kiss, gazing into each other's eyes thoughtfully and meaningfully. Heero was the first to speak.  
  
"Good morning," he said, his voice hoarse and throaty as he awoke. He shifted his weight so that he propped his elbow on the mattress to support his head, leaving one arm around Trowa's thin waist. Trowa accommodated Heero's movements with his own, letting one arm rest on Heero's which snaked around his body and curling up against Heero's chest.  
  
"Morning," Trowa mumbled, his breath blowing warmly against Heero's chest. Heero looked down at the boy whose cheek lay against him, smiling a rare smile.  
  
"Did you have sweet dreams?" he asked Trowa, the hand around Trowa's waist lifting to settle in Trowa's soft brown hair.  
  
"Somewhat," said Trowa. "I dreamed of my life with the gypsies." Trowa sighed, tracing his fingers over the defined muscles that sculpted Heero's chest and stomach. "I hadn't thought of it in awhile, I suppose. I don't miss it. But I realize now that I just haven't thought about it in a very long time."  
  
Heero frowned, sliding down from where he lay to come face to face with Trowa. "You've never told me about it," he pointed out, fingers tangling themselves in Trowa's locks. "I'm not saying you have to, but I just became conscious of the fact that you never have."  
  
"I don't see the need, I guess," Trowa said. "I could tell you—but what would be the purpose? It doesn't have any effect on you."  
  
Heero nodded. "I understand."  
  
They held each other in silence until mid afternoon.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
A week had passed. It was day of Heero's showing, which would be taking place downstairs at his virtually unused ballroom, hidden below the kitchen on the first floor of his building. Heero stood alone in his studio, the night sky dimming the room and only a few candles shown, flickering in Heero's eyes as they scanned his surroundings.  
  
Over the past week, he'd painted with a burning fuel he thought had disappeared long ago, with the loss of Milliardo. The time flew in a blur, a flurry of brilliant color, pale white canvas, and sweat-induced bronze skin.  
  
He had awakened early every morning to begin painting; Catherine was his subject in the mornings. At night, however, Trowa joined him to paint. Heero kept the portraits of Trowa a secret from everyone but he and his subject. After the sitting, they made love until the candles extinguished themselves in pools of wax and heat.  
  
Heero blinked and was snapped back into reality, as he examined each of the paintings to be displayed that night. All of them were of Catherine; he wouldn't dare exhibit the paintings of Trowa to the intolerance of high society. He approached a portrait of Trowa,  
  
covered by a thin white sheet. He lifted the sheet delicately, to view Trowa staring back at him; Trowa's eyes were shining brightly, despite the thin line his lips formed.  
  
Heero placed the sheet back down upon the painting, bidding a small farewell to the painting itself before regarding the paintings which were to be displayed that night. He took hold of one painting, framed that morning, and held it in two hands, gripping the heavy gold frame. He placed it by his feet, using his free hands to open the door, calling to Sebastian to help him set up the paintings for their showing.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Trowa sat on his bedroom floor, his back against the bed. He looked up at Catherine, who was fastening the buttons on the front of her new gown Heero had bought for her the day before. She was getting ready for her grand entrance to the party, nervously buttoning her dress with less than nimble fingers—nothing like the fingers she once had that threw knives with precision and accuracy.  
  
"Calm down, Catherine," Trowa advised her, smiling the tiniest bit at his sister's anxiety.  
  
"I can't!" Catherine said, exasperated. She fastened the top clasp to the dress and stared at herself in the mirror. The dress was a light blue color, with a high neck and pointed sleeves; the same pointed sleeves she wished she had had during her gypsy days. She  
  
stood, almost in disbelief at the woman she was now; a few months ago, she would have never thought she'd be here, in the home of one of the most highly respected and generously paid artists in the nation.  
  
"Try, Catherine," Trowa counseled, standing behind Catherine as they both gazed at her form in the mirror. Trowa had to admit that Catherine cleaned up very well, her face pale and her makeup subtle but effective.  
  
Catherine made a noise of disgust and plopped down on the bed, reaching for the bottle of wine she'd placed on her bedside table. She ground her teeth together as she twisted the cork, opening the bottle with a satisfying "pop." She picked up a glass, also on her  
  
nightstand, and poured a generous amount of red bubbly liquid into it.  
  
"How much have you had to drink today, Catherine?" Trowa asked, staring down at his sister.  
  
She took a hearty gulp of wine, placing the glass back down on the table. Her lips were stained red from the alcohol. "This is only my second glass, Trowa. I'll be alright, I promise." She peered down at her high heeled shoes, which were already beginning to pinch her toes. She finished off the glass of wine, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.  
  
"Well, just be careful, Catherine," Trowa said, taking a seat beside his sister, patting her on the back protectively. "There's going to be a lot of people there tonight—"  
  
"Don't worry about it, Trowa," Catherine snapped. She instantly turned towards her brother, a look of apology in her eyes, her fingers over her lips.  
  
"It's alright, Catherine," Trowa said. He embraced an astonished Catherine, who let her head rest against her brother's chest.  
  
"I'm sorry, Trowa, I don't know what came over me," Catherine said, her voice muffled against the fabric of Trowa's shirt.  
  
"It's alright," Trowa repeated. He released her, wiping her cheek of smeared makeup. He smiled at her broadly. "Go have a good time. Heero's probably waiting for you downstairs. You'll get to greet guests. All sorts of people; people with a lot of money who are going to buy paintings of you to put in their homes."  
  
Catherine blushed accordingly, looking down at her lap. "Thank you, Trowa," she said. She stood to leave, holding her brother's hands in her own, wobbling a little on the thin heels of her shoes.  
  
"Have a splendid time," Trowa said. "I'm tired, I think I'm going to go to sleep soon."  
  
Catherine nodded. "Alright, then. Goodnight, Trowa." She kissed the top of his head as she exited the room, quietly closing the door behind her.  
  
Trowa watched her leave. His face was full of concern, and he decided he wasn't going to go to sleep quite as soon as he thought he would.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Hello, Mister Yuy!" greeted another voice in the crowd. Heero whirled around to put a face to the voice, but found no one.  
  
More people had attended his exhibit than he had invited—that was alright with him. With Catherine attached to his arm, the night had gone rather well; he had gotten numerous offers for his paintings, and met many new people—people that were eager to buy his paintings.  
  
He looked around his surroundings once more, still happily surprised with the work Sebastian had done on the decaying ballroom. The windows were all replaced, the glass clearly reflecting the socializing happening all around him. New curtains framed the windows, an elegant purple to match the smooth table cloths over two long tables that lined opposite ends of the room. The floor had been polished, the tile revealing its true cream color instead of the murky yellow it had taken on over the years. All in all, it was a magnificent change, and Heero had thanked Sebastian over and over again, promising his long-time butler, and friend, an increase in pay.  
  
He looked down, realizing Catherine was gazing at him quite happily; he realized instantly that she was drunk, her eyes a little hazy and her lips stained with red wine. He took her to a table where she could sit, and they were immediately surrounded by guests that were eager to know the subject found in every one of Heero's displayed portraits.  
  
"Good evening, Mr. Yuy!" greeted one. "How are you this evening?"  
  
"Very well, thank you," Heero answered, offering a small smile as he rubbed Catherine's back. Catherine sat next to Heero, letting her head fall on his shoulder and her eyes close briefly.  
  
"I should think so, Mr. Yuy!" said another, shaking Heero's hand. "Your paintings are being very well received." They all turned towards Catherine. "And how is your beautiful subject?"  
  
"Very sleepy," answered Catherine, producing many laughs from the crowd around them. Heero looked down at Catherine, who smiled up at him happily.  
  
"How long did it take for you to paint this many beautiful portraits, Mr. Yuy?" asked someone in the crowd out of Heero's line of vision.  
  
"About two weeks," Heero said. The crowd gasped simultaneously.  
  
"But, sir, there has to be at least ten paintings on display!" exclaimed a shocked member of the crowd around Heero. "All in two weeks?"  
  
"Yes," Heero said modestly. "But Miss Catherine here was very cooperative through all the sittings." The two smiled briefly at each other, Catherine reaching for a glass of wine that sat on the table. Heero frowned for a split second, then turned his attention to the guests.  
  
"Do you believe your style has differed since you first began painting?" asked an additional guest.  
  
"From when I first started? Most definitely," was Heero's answer.  
  
"Oh, well, I don't think it's differed all that much."  
  
Heero looked up, curious to see who had followed his career long enough to know what they knew. The crowd parted to reveal a tall, broad shouldered man, dressed in a silk suit. His blonde hair flowed down to his waist, creating a curtain of silken locks around the man's body. Heero's eyes widened as they locked onto the man's frosty blue eyes.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Trowa sat in his bedroom, leaning up against the closed door. He could hear guests that entered through the front door, Sebastian there to greet them and take their coats if they so wished. Down the hall, he heard people chatting by the restrooms, talking small talk that sometimes made him laugh at the stupidity of it all.  
  
When one becomes wealthy, I suppose they lose their minds,Trowa thought, listening to two ladies discuss the differences between broiled and boiled chicken; it wasn't as if they were the ones who made the meals in the first place. Out of sheer boredom, Trowa decided it might be amusing to continue listening in on the ladies' conversation.  
  
"I prefer the painting where the young miss is sleeping in the chair," said one.  
  
"Oh, the young miss must be dreadfully embarrassed about that one!" said the other.  
  
"I don't believe she would be embarrassed, did you see her tonight? Drunk out of her little mind!"  
  
They both giggled, Trowa's face turning red with rage. Not only at the women that talked about his sister in such a terrible way, but at Catherine herself. He knew as well as she did that their bodies couldn't have a high tolerance of alcohol, and she completely ignored the fact. But his anger did not last long, as he continued to listen in on the women's conversation.  
  
"And did you hear that Judas DiAndretti is going to be here tonight?" asked one.  
  
Judas?thought Trowa, his head spinning. THE Judas?  
  
"Yes, I did hear that! And I also heard that Mr. DiAndretti has been following Mr. Yuy's career for quite some time now. Apparently, he's known Mr. Yuy for quite some time now."  
  
It has to be him!thought Trowa, contemplating how to react. Should I tell Heero?He decided against it; he and Heero had agreed that Trowa wouldn't show himself in public quite yet.  
  
"Has he really?" the other responded. "Well, this should certainly be interesting, having one of New York's finest artists and art critics in the same room!"  
  
Trowa narrowed his eyes. It certainly will be.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Heero was speechless. The crowd thinned out, leaving Heero sitting down, Catherine leaning lazily on his shoulder, staring at his former teacher, his former lover.  
  
"Milliardo," he said breathlessly. A million thoughts raced around his head; he didn't know how to react. It was such a shock, he didn't know if it was a good surprise or a bad one.  
  
"Well, not anymore," said the blonde, smiling down at an astonished Heero. "If people knew that Milliardo Venire was here, they'd have me thrown out, just like last time."  
  
Heero excused himself from Catherine, who was busy pouring herself another drink for the night. Heero was beyond caring as he stood to come face to face with Milliardo, their eyes meeting in a heartfelt stare. Silently, they took a seat at the table in the far corner of the room, where they wouldn't be bothered for some time. A bottle of wine and a few empty glasses were placed on the table; Heero took one glass and filled it halfway with alcohol, gesturing an offering to Milliardo, who held his hand up in polite refusal. Heero took a small sip, pressing his lips together to taste the lingering flavor.  
  
"It's been so long," Heero began. He began to touch Milliardo's hand, but Milliardo pulled it away with resistance, but not repulsion.  
  
"It has," was all he said. Heero understood Milliardo's intentions, and placed his hand flat on the table in front of him.  
  
"Where—where have you been?" Heero asked, his voice cracking with nervousness.  
  
"I've been...I've been away, Heero," said Milliardo. His eyes gleamed with mystery and life as he tried to explain to Heero what he couldn't put into words. "I see your painting has improved."  
  
Heero smiled, embarrassed, and looked down at his fidgeting hands. "Not really."  
  
"Oh yes, you have," said Milliardo. "A great deal. But, as I mentioned earlier, your style hasn't changed at all. I could look at any picture here and say to myself, this was a work of art created by the one and only Heero Yuy.'" Milliardo smiled again; Heero realized that in contrast to the polite smiles he received from his other guests, Milliardo's was genuine.  
  
"Why are you here?" Heero asked slowly.  
  
Milliardo sat back in mock surprise. "You think I would miss your first showcase of only your paintings? Never! I was your teacher, Heero. I would like to think I've taught you something." He sat forward again, his voice full of kindness, a paternal kind of kindness Heero didn't realize he had missed. "That and I was just granted access to New York again a few days ago."  
  
Heero cocked his head in confusion, silently asking Milliardo to continue.  
  
"A good friend of mine has granted me a new life," Milliardo said. "A new name, a new career, a new home. My name is now Victor Andro. I'm a carpenter." He smiled slightly. "I know, me, a carpenter. With these hands." Heero looked down for the first time and realized that Milliardo's hands still convulsed involuntarily, shaking slightly as Milliardo spoke.  
  
"Do your parents have new identities as well?" asked Heero, trying to take in almost ten years worth of lost time and memories.  
  
Milliardo's lips formed a different kind of smile. "They both died over the years."  
  
Heero's heart sank. "I'm so sorry I brought it up." He stared at the glass in his hand, the red liquid swirling around slowly.  
  
Milliardo waved his hand. "It's nothing. Father died five years ago, Mother right afterwards. I just don't think they could handle... the failure, I suppose." He looked up from where he stared at the table and smiled heartily. "Well, look at you. Wealthy, prosperous, and—" he nodded towards Catherine who spoke among a group of people  
  
who sat around her. "—and a beautiful wife, I must say."  
  
Heero shook his head. "No, we aren't married. To tell you the truth, I'm not quite certain if we're in love at all."  
  
Milliardo frowned. "She makes a beautiful subject. There's something about her that stands out."  
  
Heero nodded. "She was a gypsy."  
  
Milliardo's eyes widened. "A gypsy?" He raised a concerned eyebrow. "Do these people know that?"  
  
Heero's voice lowered. "Of course not."  
  
Their conversation was interrupted by a shriek of laughter coming from Catherine. They both turned towards the young woman, then turned back. Heero shuddered.  
  
"She's had too much to drink tonight," Heero apologized. Milliardo's eyebrow remained raised.  
  
"And you have as well, Heero," he noted. "I can tell."  
  
Heero nodded. "Probably. It's been so goddam stressful. I just want to make a good impression on these people I guess." He took another generous sip of wine.  
  
Milliardo sighed. "You're forgetting the things I taught you, Heero," Milliardo said.  
  
Heero shot his former teacher a confused stare. "What do you mean?"  
  
Milliardo reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette. He lit it on the candle that sat on the table, smoke filtering through his nose and disappearing into the air. "I taught you that whatever you do, you do for yourself. The only person you have to please is yourself."  
  
Heero sighed. "How am I supposed to make any money that way?" he argued.  
  
Milliardo sighed, flicking the ash into the ash tray on the table. Some of the ash floated to rest on the royal purple tablecloth. "Another thing I thought I taught you, but I suppose over time one forgets." He leaned in closer to Heero. "Before we were artists, what were we?"  
  
Heero nodded, understanding.  
  
"And how much money did we have?" Milliardo questioned.  
  
"Not nearly as much as we have now," Heero sighed.  
  
"And were you still happy?" Milliardo asked.  
  
"Yes," Heero said. He smiled. "I could always count on you to put things into perspective."  
  
Milliardo inhaled through his cigarette again, exhaling as he spoke. "And I could always count on you to help me put things into perspective." He smiled. "Do you love the girl?"  
  
Heero shook his head. "I really don't know," he said nonchalantly.  
  
Milliardo sat contemplatively, taking a drag from his cigarette and letting the smoke flow from his mouth lethargically. "There's something you're hiding from me. You don't have to tell me, but I know that you're hiding something from me. I could always tell."  
  
Heero finished his glass of wine, grabbing the bottle for another glass. After he was done pouring the glass three quarters of the way full, he sighed, taking a sip large enough to drain the glass of its contents. "I am seeing someone. But it's not Catherine."  
  
Milliardo nodded, pressing the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray. He allowed Heero to say what he wanted to say, not prodding the man for information that Heero didn't want to reveal.  
  
"His name is Trowa," Heero said slowly, his voice low despite the fact that the guests at his party were well out of earshot. "Catherine's brother."  
  
Milliardo raised his eyebrows, but said nothing more.  
  
"He's...exquisite," Heero said, not finding the words to describe the captivating Trowa Barton. "He was a gypsy also...I found he and Catherine in the city, where they were performing. And even then, I realized he's just...radiant."  
  
"And I suppose you've painted him?" Milliardo asked.  
  
"Yes," Heero said. "Numerous times, in fact." He downed another glass of wine, finding a strange comfort in the alcohol that evening.  
  
"He intrigues you?"  
  
"Yes," Heero said. "He does."  
  
Milliardo nodded. "It sounds like he's had quite an effect on you."  
  
Heero hesitated before he spoke. "As you did," he said softly.  
  
They sat in silence for a few precious minutes, regarding each other and remembering what they once had together, what they once shared. It was special, and silently they agreed it was not to be touched again. It was a memory, and would stay a memory. And they both realized that it would be better that way.  
  
"You'll stay in contact more often, I hope?" Heero said, breaking the sacred silence.  
  
"Yes," Milliardo promised. "I will."  
  
"Heero Yuy!"  
  
Heero turned around in his chair to see a group of guests eagerly grinning and flashing their expensive jewelry and cuff links. "Do you have any more to display?"  
  
Heero gulped down half of another glass of wine, and glanced at Milliardo who sat beside him with a look of worry on his face.  
  
"I wouldn't recommend it, Heero," Milliardo said under his breath.  
  
Heero tossed his head. "No, you were right before. I don't paint for anyone but myself." He smiled at the enthusiastic faces across the room.  
  
"I do, in fact," Heero heard himself say.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Hello, Mr. DiAndretti," greeted Sebastian.  
  
Judas DiAndretti peered around the foyer, handing his coat to Sebastian without a return greeting. He had brought his assistant with him, who nodded thanks to Sebastian for the both of them.  
  
"I need to use the restroom," said Judas.  
  
"It's to your left, sir," Sebastian said politely. "And when you're ready to go to the main room, you take the stairs to your ri—"  
  
"I know where to go," Judas interrupted.  
  
So, this is where Heero Yuy lives nowadays,Judas thought, walking down the hallways lined with oriental rugs. Impressive. Pitiful, as well.  
  
"Mr. DiAndretti?"  
  
"Yes, David?" Judas answered his assistant without turning around.  
  
"What do you suppose we do now?"  
  
Judas whirled around, eyes darting back and forth to see if anyone was remotely close by. Seeing no one, he grabbed his assistant by the collar, shaking him violently.  
  
"Do you realize that if there had been people around—"  
  
"But there aren't, Mr. DiAndretti! I looked!" His assistant's eyes were full of fear, the way Judas liked them to be. Judas released David's collar, straightening his own attire.  
  
"Listen, I want you to go downstairs while I figure out just what the hell I'm going to do about that fucking gypsy in there who thinks he's a goddam artist. When I come down, I need you there to tell me what the hell's going on." His eyes began to shine, a smile forming on his lips. "I, however, need to look my best as I denounce our favorite artist."  
  
Nodding, David made his way down the stairs while Judas, sneering, opened the door to the powder room.  
  
"Your career is finished, Mr. Yuy," Judas smirked to himself.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Trowa's eyes were wide, his ears disbelieving what he had just heard. He's going to ruin Heero,thought Trowa. Just like he wrecked Heero's teacher. Trowa's head began to throb with the many different thoughts that seemed to pulse in his skull. His eyes darted around in the darkness for a tangible solution.  
  
His eyes rested on Catherine's throwing knives.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
His paintings were brought out, all from his studio. They were also all covered by thin white sheets, some of the bolder color showing through the whiteness of the sheet. Heero's head felt light due to the amount of alcohol he'd taken in that night. He managed to smile coyly as each of his paintings of Trowa were revealed to the public.  
  
Milliardo sat by Heero's side, taking careful glances at the slightly drunken man next to him. He viewed the first portrait of who he assumed to be Trowa. Indeed the boy was beautiful, his green eyes captivating. His skin was flawless; his own was marred from the  
  
stress the gypsy life had on his body. The boy had a hint of hesitance beyond the dominant smile that graced his face.  
  
Milliardo looked around him, gasps of disbelief and surprise coming from all directions. He looked at Heero for some kind of reaction, and found none. Heero seemed almost indifferent. Quiet.  
  
"This is outrageous!" Milliardo heard. "Disgraceful!"  
  
He looked over at Heero whose face still showed indifference. With his peripheral vision, he noticed a figure who ran out of the room and up the stairs. He got up to follow them.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Judas stood at the mirror, inspecting his flawless form, when David burst through the door, breathing heavily.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing, David?" Judas snapped, straightening his tie. "I told you to wait downstairs, and I would come down there in a minute."  
  
"But, sir, Heero Yuy is embarrassing himself as we speak!" David smiled, knowing the news would please Judas.  
  
Judas raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a smile. "Oh, really?"  
  
"He's added...other paintings to his showcase this evening," David continued. "Ones of a very controversial nature."  
  
"The fucking faggot," Judas spit. "That's what he painted, am I correct? Naked little boys, the goddam dishonorable pervert." He smirked in the mirror. "Go downstairs, I'll join you in a minute. Heero Yuy could use as much deprecation as possible."  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Trowa waited until the one called David descended the stairs before opening the door quietly, a cloak he had used to keep warm during his winters as a gypsy. He peered around the corner to find the door to the powder room closed.  
  
He crept around the corner, hidden in the darkness of the unlit hallway, clutching a knife in his hand so hard that his hand was trembling.  
  
What am I doing?a voice screamed inside his head. You're defending Heero's honor,he answered himself.  
  
He stood at the entrance to the powder room, back against the wall. He tried to control his breathing; it was heavy and hard and labored. He closed his eyes, trying to decide if he wanted to turn back. He didn't.  
  
The door swung open, Trowa coming face to face with the one known as Judas. Judas was handsome—wavy brown hair atop his head, a chiseled jaw and cheekbones, and deep set chocolate eyes. Judas regarded Trowa with a nod before Trowa darted his hand out to punch Judas in the stomach. Judas fell back, clutching the place Trowa had hit.  
  
Trowa jumped onto Judas' body, straddling the man's stomach and holding Judas down. With the pounding adrenaline that ran through his veins like fire, Trowa raised the knife above his head, holding down Judas' body with the other. The last look Judas had on his face before his murder was one of fear—so different from the pride he flaunted.  
  
Trowa sunk the knife deep into Judas' chest, the pressure causing blood to squirt from the wound, splattering across Judas' clothes and Trowa's face. Trowa laid his hand over Judas' mouth as the man began to scream violently, feeling the vibrations and the choke in every scream as he plunged the knife into Judas' body over and over again.  
  
Trowa watched the array of emotions play along Judas' face. There was the fear—then there was confusion, anger, hope, and finally defeat as Judas' eyes rolled back into his skull, body going limp under Trowa's body.  
  
Breathing heavily, Trowa pulled the knife from Judas' body, shaking off the blood from the dirty blade. He remained seated on Judas' body, looking around his surroundings carefully. No one was around, save a table beside him with a vase of roses. On the wall above the table was a mirror, the only witness to the crime.  
  
Slowly, Trowa stood, gazing into the mirror. Blood was splattered across his face, matted in his hair. Filthy blood. The knife was still in his hand, different than it was before; his hand was no longer trembling, his hand stained with blood. He took a rose from the vase, placing it carefully on Judas' body. He turned to return to his room, only to find a figure standing at the stairwell, staring at him.  
  
The stranger's blue eyes appeared to pierce his very soul. He narrowed his eyes in curiosity and fear. It was Milliardo.  
  
-to be continued-  



	12. Candlelight Masterpiece 12

Trowa stared into Milliardo's ice blue stare, a million thoughts racing through his mind. What do I do next? Should I kill this man too? But, this man means so much to Heero! And Judas ruined Milliardo's family! He'd want revenge too! Does Heero know Milliardo is here? If so, does Milliardo know about me?Trowa stood still, the knife in his hand beginning to slip with the lubrication provided by Judas' blood.  
  
Urged by the controversy going on downstairs, Milliardo took the few steps it took between himself and Trowa and stood face to face with the boy. He was nearly a head taller than Trowa, and he stared down at the younger man, not saying anything, but indicating that Trowa follow him quickly.  
  
Milliardo led Trowa to the powder room, and through a door, allowing them to exit Heero's home. With a sharp whistle, Milliardo's strong steed galloped around the corner, large, sleek, and black. Trowa felt like he was in a surreal dream as Milliardo mounted the horse, and offered his hand for Trowa to follow. Trowa raised his blood- stained hand nervously, but Milliardo did not want to waste time with polite gestures. He gripped Trowa's hand firmly and hoisted the light boy onto the horse, wrapping his arms around Trowa's form as he took hold of the reins. With a sharp nudge to the horse's underbelly,  
  
they galloped away. Trowa could hear the screams of fear begin to uncoil from inside Heero's house. His eyes fluttered shut.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
A scream from upstairs shook Heero from his half drunken stupor. Miss Lila, a small, timid young lady in her late teens, clambered down the stairs, tears streaking her cheeks and her hands half covering her face.  
  
The guests present looked upon the girl either in shock or disgust; it wasn't ordinary to see Miss Lila become to exasperated.  
  
"Someone's been killed!" she sobbed loudly. "Upstairs, right outside the powder room!" With that, she collapsed at the foot of the stairs, overwhelmed with the sight she had just seen.  
  
A resounding gasp was heard, and two women quickly swept across the room to Miss Lila's side as the majority of the men ran up the stairs to see if Miss Lila's account was indeed true.  
  
Heero stood abruptly, looking around for Sebastian; he would know what to do. Sebastian had some running in from the kitchen as soon as he had heard Miss Lila's blood-curdling scream. Heero ran to Sebastian with panic in his voice.  
  
"What's going on, Sebastian?" Heero asked.  
  
"I'm not quite sure, Mr. Yuy," Sebastian answered honestly. "The last man I let in was that well known-art critic—"  
  
"Mr. Judas DiAndretti's been murdered!" called a voice from upstairs.  
  
Heero looked to upstairs, to Sebastian, and back again. Sebastian nodded solemnly, and nodded to Mr. Yuy, leaving the young artist in attempt to calm the other guests down. Heero instead weeded through the mass amounts of people and took the steps two at a time, passing various other people who were green in the face and covered their mouths with sickness; Heero guessed that they had already seen the corpse of Judas.  
  
Judas,Heero thought with both disgust and pity. He reached the scene of the crime, many gentlemen forming a circle around the corpse. He pushed two aside as he approached them with haste, his eyes bulging at the sight.  
  
It was the same Judas he once knew, the same Judas he'd remembered from over ten years ago. The same wavy brown hair, the same large blue eyes. Only now, that wavy brown hair was matted with crimson blood which was quickly drying into a dark brown; those large blue eyes were glassy, the blue hardly visible as Judas' pupils were rolled back into his skull. The crisp white shirt Judas wore was now drenched in his own blood, numerous slits in his shirt marking the obvious stab wounds.  
  
Heero scanned the corpse and stopped at Judas' chest where a single rose lay innocently. The shouts and screams of panic and worry around him began to fade into a dull hum as Heero knelt in front of Judas, beside the dead man's face. He slowly picked up the rose, dropping it suddenly as he was pricked by a small, but sharp thorn. A small bead of blood formed on his forefinger, and he instinctively placed his finger in his mouth and recognized the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. He had yearned to see Judas like this.  
  
But I DIDN'T do this,Heero thought, his mind clouded with contemplation. If I didn't kill him, who did?He scanned the room silently. Where's Milliardo?He began to stand until his eyes came in contact with Trowa's bedroom, the door cracked open and the lights dark.  
  
Ignoring the odd looks from others, he ran into Trowa's room, grabbing the candle that always sat by the table next to the door. He lit the candle hastily and scanned the room for any signs of Trowa. There was none.  
  
Laying across the bed was Catherine's case of throwing knives. Quickly, so that no one else could see, Heero threw open the top to the knife case. One knife was missing. Heero quickly shut the case and threw it under Catherine's bed. He turned back to his guests and to his relief, everybody was so concerned with the newly deceased art critic, they had long forgotten about Heero and his "unnatural" paintings.  
  
He stood outside the room, his back against the doorframe. Everything became nebulous and unclear as he slid down the wall and sunk to the floor. Trowa was gone. Milliardo was gone. His eyes began to close as he began to feel completely and utterly alone.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
What do I do with this boy?Milliardo asked himself as his horse carried them to the outskirts of town. He'd have to feed the steed extra tonight; the poor horse worked doubly hard. Early in their journey, the young boy's head had dipped back onto Milliardo's arm, which still held the reins steady. The boy's tanned face would have radiated innocence, if it weren't for the blood that splattered the boy's flawless cheek.  
  
The wind beat against Milliardo's face; it was early autumn but the air was getting crisp and cool quickly. Trowa began to shiver slightly in his sleep. Milliardo pulled the boy closer to his chest as they approached Milliardo's new home, a small farm house surrounded by beautiful, strong trees. An orangey pink spread across the wide sky, welcoming Milliardo and his new guest back home.  
  
With a grunt, Milliardo's horse came to stop at the side of the house. Careful not to topple the slumbering boy, he dismounted the horse and let Trowa fall into his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something shiny and silver fall to the ground. It was the weapon.  
  
Ignoring it for the time being, Milliardo walked up the slowly decaying stairs to the side entrance of his house; it would lead to his bedroom where a warm bed awaited. Milliardo decided it was best for Trowa to use his bed; he'd set up a cot for himself. The boy needed more comfort than he did.  
  
The boy's hand slipped from Milliardo's cradling arms, and it hung limply. Milliardo glanced down at his arm and noticed the sanguine streak it had left there. He furrowed his brow and tried to decide what to do.  
  
With intention, Milliardo lay Trowa down on the bed, Trowa beginning to stir and shiver again once Milliardo left his side.  
  
"I'll be right back," Trowa heard Milliardo say, his voice paternal and loving.  
  
Trowa couldn't help but continue to shiver. His eyes were still closed; any light made his head begin to pound. His breaths were in short gasps. Trowa became quiet as he heard the sound running water. After a short while, he felt Milliardo by his side again, slowing unwrapping the boy of his clothes. Trowa began to shiver violently, whimpering slightly.  
  
"It's alright," said Milliardo, his voice slow and steady, soft and sure. He removed Trowa's shirt, which stuck to Trowa's skin with dried blood. Milliardo found that Trowa's skin was incredibly smooth, despite the firm muscles that rested beneath such tenderness.  
  
"Now, I'm going to remove your pants, Trowa," said Milliardo softly, his hand resting on the waistband on Trowa's slacks. "I'm not here to harm you in any way. I'm just going to bathe you. Is that alright with you? If you're not comfortable with this, say something now."  
  
At the word "bath," Trowa's ears perked up, and he nodded slowly, eyes still closed, and felt a chill run up his spine as he felt himself being unbuttoned and removed of all his clothing. However, instead of feeling exposed, he felt safe, and instinctively moved towards sources of warmth.  
  
Milliardo sat on his bed and found a Trowa nestled in his lap, shivering slightly, but not nearly as badly as before. He smiled slightly, lifting the boy with ease and carrying him to the bath. He eased Trowa into the warm water, Trowa's shivering immediately stopping and a small noise of contentment emerging from his throat. Milliardo smiled and rolled up his sleeves, dampening a cloth with the water surrounding Trowa's body. He began to wash the blood off of Trowa's face, his arms, washing away the evidence to Trowa's happiness.  
  
He began to speak to Trowa, curious as to how much Heero had told his new lover. "Trowa?" he said, his voice a soft growl.  
  
Trowa made a noise signaling that he was indeed conscious and aware he was being spoken to.  
  
Milliardo laughed a bit before continuing. "Trowa, do you know who I am?"  
  
Trowa said nothing, only making satisfied murmurs. Milliardo shrugged; perhaps Heero didn't tell Trowa anything about him. There really wasn't a need.  
  
"My name is Victor," Milliardo said, his new name sounding strange on his lips.  
  
Trowa shook his head, opening his eyes so that they remained half-lidded. "No; you're Milliardo Venire."  
  
Milliardo stopped his bathing to look at the young creature that lay before him in the now murky water that was beginning to stain a shade of pink. These were the first words he'd heard from the small boy; he realized that this boy was not as young as he had thought.  
  
Trowa's voice was weak, but it was clear and certain.  
  
"Yes, that's right." He squeezed the water out of the cloth and began to wash Trowa's face. Trowa leaned his face against the welcoming warmth, and purred quietly. He pressed Milliardo's hand against his face, his mouth dropping.  
  
"I know who you are," Trowa said softly. "You were Heero's lover."  
  
Milliardo swallowed. "Yes, that's right," he repeated. Reluctantly, he dropped his hand away, and let the cloth soak up more water before squeezing it out again and repeating the process until all evidence of blood drained into the water surrounding Trowa, which was now beginning to cool. Trowa began to shiver.  
  
"Christ, you must be cold," Milliardo said. He stood to get a towel before he felt Trowa's damp hand grab his arm. He looked back to see Trowa's face begin to crumble.  
  
"Please don't leave!" Trowa said, his voice beginning to break into sobs. Milliardo didn't know exactly what to do, but knelt beside Trowa as the young man began to cry. His tears dropped into the tub to blend with the bathwater. A bit unsure, Milliardo pulled Trowa out of the tub and into his lap, the boy's body soaking his clothes; Milliardo soon realized he didn't care. He sat on the floor of the bathroom as Trowa cries echoed on the bathroom walls.  
  
Trowa cried, not quite sure why he was crying, but the fact that he had someone to hold him made it easier to let go.  
  
Milliardo felt his clothes soak further as the boy's tears began to soak his chest. He remembered when he was a boy, he would go to his mother to cry, his mother who worked so hard in the days they were part of the train. He mimicked what he remembered his mother did to comfort him, and did his best to console Trowa, holding the boy close and running his fingers lightly through the boy's hair, murmuring "shh" as the boy's sobs began to die down.  
  
"Are you alright now?" Milliardo asked, once Trowa's weeping became small whimpers. He felt the boy nod against his chest. "Okay. I need you to do me a favor and stand up. You'll probably be cold for a second, but I have a nice fluffy towel here that you can have."  
  
Trowa nodded again and pressed against Milliardo, who, in the short time he'd been acquainted with the strong, handsome man, was beginning to be a large comfort. Trowa stood on weak limbs and was immediately enveloped in a large white bath towel. Milliardo lifted Trowa, who wrapped his legs around Milliardo's waist, clinging to the  
  
man for safely. Milliardo smiled as he held Trowa with one arm around the boy's waist, and carried the him to the bed, turning down the blankets with his free hand. He removed the towel from Trowa's body as he slipped the boy under the covers. He tousled Trowa's hair with the towel, making it remotely dry so that Trowa wouldn't wake up with a cold the next day.  
  
"Alright," Milliardo said, after he'd tucked Trowa in to his satisfaction. "I'm going to go get the cot—"  
  
Trowa's hand darted out from under the covers to grasp Milliardo's. He shook his head violently, pulling on Milliardo's arm.  
  
"No, Trowa, I think we should—"  
  
Trowa's eyebrows began to furrow and a pleading look stretched across his face. Milliardo sighed in defeat and crawled under the covers with Trowa. Trowa immediately tangled himself in Milliardo's embrace, resting on top of the blonde's heaving chest. It wasn't sexual in any way to Trowa; Milliardo was someone he quickly began to trust. Milliardo was safety.  
  
Milliardo smiled slightly. "I don't know when I can bring you back to Heero, Trowa," he said. As Milliardo spoke, Trowa's cheek vibrated against Milliardo's chest. "But not very soon. You're going to have to lay low for awhile. I don't know exactly what's going to happen; I'll give Heero a call tomorrow and see what's going on. Otherwise, I'm sorry to say, you're going to have to stay here. It's not the most expensive place, but I rather like it."  
  
Trowa's eyes began to droop, and Milliardo's words began to lull him to sleep. Milliardo, realizing he no longer had an audience, smiled a bit. He moistened his fingers with his tongue and extinguished the candle beside the bed, wrapping his arms around Trowa's torso and drifted off to sleep.  
  
- to be continued -  



	13. Candlelight Masterpiece 13

"Mister Yuy, the press is at the door."  
  
Heero stood next to the window, looking down at the street. A crowd gathered around his front door, some with cameras, and he closed his eyes in defeat. A situation like this had never occurred before. For once, he needed someone. And the two most likely people he would turn to were no where to be found.  
  
"Yes, Sebastian, I know." Heero let his fingertips press against the window, leaving oily streaks as his hand returned to his side.  
  
"Shall I let them in?" came Sebastian's experienced, comforting voice.  
  
"I see no reason not to let them in. But keep the visitors to a minimum, please."  
  
Sebastian bowed slightly and sadly as he left the room. Heero stood contemplative. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for the daily onslaught.  
  
/Mr. Yuy, you knew Mr. DiAndretti on a somewhat personal level, did you not?  
  
Mr. Yuy, there are rumors of a rivalry between yourself and the late Mr. DiAndretti, is that correct?  
  
Mr. Yuy, did you have a relationship with Mr. DiAndretti of the same themes as your recent work?  
  
Mr. Yuy, does your recent work reflect your personal life?  
  
Mr. Yuy, are you aware that your actions are questionable by the church?/  
  
Heero sighed and turned to make his way downstairs.  
  
-----  
  
Trowa awoke slowly and softly, not bothering to clear his throat or open his eyes. He felt the warmth of a fire on his face, and the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He was warm...he felt a rough, but comforting blanket over his body, covering him like...like wool. Shifting positions, he realized that he was no longer in Heero's bed, or on the floor.  
  
His eyelashes fluttered open, and his blurred vision prevented him from seeing anything but images with faded edges and warm undertones. He shifted positions again, and bolt of pain shot down his back.  
  
He let out a small gasp of pain; almost simultaneously, a hand was at his shoulder, pushing him gently back onto the bed. Trowa looked for a person, and found only colors, like he was looking through water.  
  
"Lay back," a voice said. It was a beautiful susurration that echoed softly in Trowa's ears.  
  
Everything came back to him at once. The murder of Judas. Running away from Heero. Running away with the man that was once Heero's teacher and mentor. And lover.  
  
Trowa blinked rapidly, begging his eyes to recover from sleep, and he squinted slightly, looking up at Milliardo.  
  
Milliardo's hair fell against his own shoulders, and as he looked down upon the fragile boy, some of his hair brushed against Trowa's bare stomach, causing the muscles to involuntarily quiver. Milliardo sighed and reached for a ribbon to tie back his meddlesome—  
  
"Don't," Trowa said, his voice weak and filled with sleep. Milliardo looked down at Trowa, who looked like he was about to pass out, but the boy gripped his arm that reached for the ribbon, gripped it like a vice. He saw the boy's muscles ripple underneath smooth tan skin and began to think of Heero again.  
  
Milliardo shook his head, more of his hair falling across his shoulders and covering his back like a soft curtain, which was comforting. He smiled slightly. "You're hurt mildly from back at Heero's house. Nothing horrible, just some bruises and sore muscles. Tomorrow, you can start walking around and you'll feel better—"  
  
"How long have I been here?" Trowa said weakly.  
  
"Almost three days," Milliardo replied, the fire beginning to pop and die out.  
  
Trowa cleared his throat, his voice newly determined and desperate at the same time. And I've been asleep?"  
  
"Yes," said Milliardo. "Don't waste your breath. You may need more sleep—"  
  
"I think three days is enough," said Trowa with a little laugh, and he began to sit up, sucking in his breath at the sharp pains in his back and his shoulders.  
  
"Don't, you're not fully—"  
  
"Don't be ridiculous, I'm fine." Trowa pushed Milliardo's hand away and sat up, leaning against the wall and resting his head there as well.  
  
Milliardo watched as muscles moved beneath taut skin and he looked away, instead standing to tend to the fire which was almost completely burnt out. He fed the fire slowly, throwing in one log and watching it long enough until it began to catch fire. Another log was added, and he turned, satisfied with is work.  
  
He looked back at Trowa, whose head rested against the wall, his throat exposed, his adam's apple jutting out, his breath coming in short gasps. Every now and again, he'd pause to lick his lips or keep his mouth from going dry.  
  
Suddenly, Trowa lifted his head from the wall and pulled himself to the edge of the bed, planting his feet on the ground.  
  
"Where is this place?" Trowa asked.  
  
"About thirty kilometers outside of town," Milliardo replied. He begged for Trowa to look at him.  
  
"How is Heero?"  
  
"He is going on trial for the murder of Judas DiAndretti today... however, he's obviously not guilty, considering there were hundreds of witnesses to say that he was downstairs in the ballroom the entire time. However, they will be looking for DiAndretti's murderer for quite some time. He was an established figure of society. So, you're going to have to stay out of the public for awhile."  
  
"I'm always out of the public," said Trowa softly.  
  
They were quiet for some time, listening to the crackle of the fire and the silence the spread between them.  
  
Trowa stood, quickly regretting his decision as he immediately grabbed his shoulder in pain. He sucked in a breath quickly.  
  
"What are you doing?" Milliardo asked.  
  
"I have to go to Heero," said Trowa, as if it were obvious and apparent. He began searching for his shoes, when he realized that he wasn't wearing anything at all in the first place.  
  
He felt his face become very hot, and he grabbed the woolen blanket that once covered him, and wrapped it around his waist. He snuck a glare at Milliardo, only to find the blonde man turned with his back facing Trowa.  
  
"Where are my clothes?" Trowa asked as quietly as possible.  
  
"They're in the bathroom, hanging above the tub. They should be dry by now." Milliardo continued to stare at the fire, refusing to turn around.  
  
"Thank you." Trowa walked to the bathroom, the blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, warm from where he had slept in it thoughtlessly and obliviously for the past three nights.  
  
Milliardo continued to look at the fire, his face becoming too hot, and he looked away for second. He found himself looking at the full length mirror that hung from the wall. The mirror had a crack in it, and he used to always joke to himself that it was because he looked in it one too many times.  
  
But just below the crack in the mirror, he gazed upon the beautiful lithe form of Trowa.  
  
Milliardo turned his attentions back to the fire, but his eyes kept adverting towards the mirror in spite of himself, as if begging him to look just a little longer. Trowa had a gypsy's body, muscles that were not apparent at first, but made their appearances subtly and beautifully. Milliardo watched Trowa step into his pants, watched the boy wince as he moved a muscle the wrong way.  
  
Milliardo cleared his throat, eyes snapping back to gaze at biting flames. "I don't think it's a wise choice to go back to Heero now. I—I know that he means a great deal to you, Trowa, but if you showed up, it wouldn't be good for him."  
  
Trowa pulled on the coarse shirt he'd worn for years and had a hole under the sleeve that was now repaired. "What do you mean? If Heero's not doing well, then I should be there for him. It's only what I should do."  
  
"Listen, Heero isn't just in trouble with the law, he's in trouble with the church."  
  
Trowa furrowed his brow, walking slowly into the room where he had remembered passing his shoes. "Why?"  
  
"Because he was a drunken idiot during that party he threw three days ago and decided that he was going to display all of his paintings."  
  
Trowa sat down painfully and used his foot to drag the shoe in front of him. "And..?"  
  
"And that included...paintings that he has done of you."  
  
Trowa stopped in the middle of stepping his foot inside his shoe. "...what kind of paintings?"  
  
"Ones of a controversial nature."  
  
Trowa felt a blush spread across his cheeks rapidly. "He did?"  
  
"Don't see this as a reflection on Heero himself," Milliardo said, turning around quickly, stepping towards the bed. "Do realized that he was under the influence and wasn't really thinking as clear as he normally does—"  
  
"He hasn't been thinking too clearly to begin with," Trowa said softly, hardly a whisper, barely loud enough for Milliardo to hear... but he heard it loud and clear.  
  
"I see," Milliardo said, not wanting to pry. He sat on the bed next to Trowa, hands on his knees. He let out a large sigh. "Heero isn't perfect. Just like you and I aren't. No one is. It just proves how human we are. The decisions we make in life affect who we are, as in our character. Learning mistakes, the decisions we think we regret... that is what makes you human. The learning process, being able to mature. Heero...I don't know what he's learned, who he's learned from, what he's been taught, how he's grown. I talked with him shortly before and I probably know him just as well as you do now. And we both know that's not too much. I can't apologize for Heero's actions. I once could, seeing as I felt that I was his influence in his life, in his work, in the way he lived and loved. But I can say that Heero is confused. That's not to say that his confusion is an excuse. But Heero is confused; he doesn't know what he wants until—"  
  
Milliardo stopped as soon as the boy threw himself at him, the boy's chest against his own, hands grasping his shirt.  
  
"Tro—"  
  
"Don't say anything," Trowa gasped, his chest heaving, tears beginning to form at the sides of his eyes and he didn't know why.  
  
Milliardo didn't say anything, but wrapped his arms tightly around Trowa, who instinctively straddled Milliardo's lap and crossed his legs behind the man's broad back. Trowa didn't know why he felt this way. He felt empty and needed to be whole again. He felt like everything was an intricate puzzle, and that he was just about to finish this puzzle, but there were no more pieces left and there still remained a few holes where pieces had been lost.  
  
Maybe Milliardo was a missing piece to the puzzle.  
  
-----  
  
Catherine's hand shook as she attempted to place the empty glass on the night table, but she couldn't control her hand, the way it was quivering, quaking. Before she could prevent it, it shattered to the floor, in so many pieces that there were so many Catherine's looking up at her.  
  
She looked at herself. She was tired. Obviously drunk. There were red stains on her cheeks from the trail of tears that had run down her cheeks. She never wiped them away. She let them burn.  
  
She began to rock slowly on her bed, her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin resting against her knees. She didn't dare leave the room. There were always people outside...strange people...  
  
/Mr. Yuy, do you believe that your recent work is a bit unnatural?  
  
No, I do not. I paint what I feel I am intrigued to paint.  
  
Are you saying, Mr. Yuy, that your relationship with Miss Catherine is not stable?  
  
This is not a question of my relationship with Miss Catherine.  
  
May we speak to Miss Catherine?  
  
Miss Catherine isn't feeling well. And your visit will not make her any better. Please leave, and let her gain her strength back. The murder has affected us all, especially Miss Catherine./  
  
No, Heero, thought Catherine. The murder hasn't affected me. You have. Trowa has. And now that he's gone, all I have is you. And you're not here either.  
  
Catherine stopped crying, and stopped her gentle rocking. She lay flat on the bed, her head resting against the soft pillow.  
  
You never had pillows, Catherine, something inside of herself said.  
  
Catherine tore the pillow out from under her head and tossed it on the ground.  
  
You never had a bed, Catherine, the voice said again.  
  
Catherine violently threw herself to the floor, some of the glass ripping into her skin. She didn't cry out.  
  
She reached for the liquor on her bedside table and gasped as it fell to the floor, shattering in large chunks of glass as the liquid burst from its broken structure.  
  
Catherine became maniacal. She tried to cup the liquor in her hands, licking it off her fingers. She put her lips to the ground, sucking it from the wooden floor. Her lip split on a piece of glass, and she cried out, bringing her hands to her lips, the salt from her fingers stinging. She cried out again, and pressed her lips together, tasting the blood on her lip.  
  
She looked up at the ceiling, and began to cry again.  
  
- to be continued - 


	14. Candlelight Masterpiece 14

Trowa pressed his face against Milliardo's chest, and listened to the man's heartbeat. Some of Milliardo's hair fell upon Trowa's back, and Trowa sunk even further into Milliardo's chest. It felt safe. All Trowa wanted was safety.  
  
Milliardo's feelings were at war with each other, the chiding in his brain battling the temptation of years without human touch only to find the beautiful subject of another pressed against him so closely. He held Trowa like a broken piece of glass; something delicate and already damaged, afraid to cause more harm. Trowa's tears were wet and tickled his chest as they dripped down his stomach. He didn't know quite what to do, only to let it be known that he was there and not leaving. It was the only thing Trowa needed at the moment, the only thing Milliardo could provide.  
  
Trowa's short, choked breaths ended in a heaving sigh. The room was silent, as it had been for some time, and the weight of the silence began to fall upon Milliardo's shoulders.  
  
"Are you alright?" he finally said, asking the obvious, still unsure of everything that was happening at the moment.  
  
Trowa continued to breath onto his chest, moisture forming where Trowa's body pressed against him, and neither seemed to care. "I'm sorry," was Trowa's quiet response, although he did not move away.  
  
Milliardo laughed a sad sort of laugh, the kind that only comes from one who has suffered. His mouth formed a tender smile, as he said quietly and confidently, "I understand."  
  
Trowa looked up slowly to rest his gaze upon the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, which looked down on him with anything but a condescending manner. They were soft, but very tired, very aged as he looked closely.  
  
You're beautiful, Trowa wanted to tell him. Do you really understand?he wanted to ask. How did you know that all I really wanted was understanding?he wanted say.  
  
Instead, Trowa leaned up to capture Milliardo's lips in his own.  
  
-----  
  
"All rise."  
  
The courtroom was full; the newspapers and the town had been anticipating the day of Heero Yuy's trial since the day of Judas DiAndretti's murder. Some people were attracted to the trial because of the murder, and without any other distinct suspect, all eyes were focused on Heero Yuy. The state was concentrated on Mister Yuy, for they had no other leads to the crime, especially since it was certainly obvious from over fifty alibis that Mister Yuy did not kill Mister DiAndretti.  
  
However, the Church was another matter. The people that were not drawn to the courthouse because of Judas DiAndretti's murder were there for that of which Mister Yuy was most surely guilty in his paintings most recently displayed on the day of the death of Mister DiAndretti.  
  
Hanging above Heero's head as he sat in the courtroom, mentally blocking out his surroundings, was a possible sentence of five to ten years in jail. Heero thought about the years he'd spend without a paintbrush. He thought about what kind of life Catherine would have whether or not he was jailed. He thought most about Trowa, where Trowa was now, and what Trowa was doing as he stood in front of the entire city, its state representatives, and members of the Church.  
  
"Judge Aldighieri Talduccio."  
  
An old, venerable man took a seat in front of the courthouse, signaling the mass of people gathered to watch the trial to be seated as well. Heero took his seat last, eyes glassy and neck stiff as he watched the proceedings as if viewing them in a dream.  
  
The judge put on his spectacles adjusting them accordingly. The courthouse was completely silent, with the exception of the rain that fell lightly outside yet thundered on the aluminum roof of the courthouse.  
  
"Heero Yuy," Judge Talduccio said, finally. His voice sounded tired, yet respectable.  
  
Heero stood and nodded. "Your Honor."  
  
"You understand that you are here to be judged upon one count of murder, that of Joseph Stephano DiAndretti by the power of the state." The judge peered over his spectacles.  
  
"I understand," said Heero, his voice calm and steady, his heart anything but.  
  
"You also understand that you are here to be judged upon one count of heresy by the power of the Church."  
  
"I understand," Heero repeated.  
  
"Then let us begin."  
  
-----  
  
They began slowly, in fluid movements, speaking with their limbs instead of their mouths. Trowa's arms hung over broad shoulders, hands limp as fingers snaked around Trowa's neck to cradle the boy's head in his hands.  
  
Their kiss was slow, but deep, drinking each other like a fine wine, a wine to be shared not by lovers, not by friends, but as confidantes. They drank from each other's lips the secrets that they'd never shared and the ones they would conceal in the future. It was not a matter of love, it was a matter of trust, a matter of hope. A matter of faith.  
  
This was not passion. Passion was not caring if there was a reason to believe in each other. But there was a hope that caused them to cling to each other tightly, holding onto each other for dear life. They had faith in each other; faith was not having a reason not to believe in each other.  
  
Trowa slid into his lap easily, Milliardo resting his back against his bed. He molded Trowa's waist with hands that were now steady and sure, a sturdiness they had not maintained for years as his fingers pressed against a firm ribcage. Long legs wrapped around Milliardo's waist, his entire body pressed against Milliardo's as he rocked slowly.  
  
Their breath was heavy together, but never dared rise above anything but. Their lips parted only to breathe before they relinquished each other again.  
  
Milliardo tugged at the shirt he had repaired only days ago, only to toss it away on the floor, forgotten as he flicked his tongue quickly and silently against an exposed nipple. Trowa's head dropped back so quickly, Milliardo feared the boy had been harmed. However, the young boy's breath began to quicken, hands digging into Milliardo's back as he indulged the young man in his lap.  
  
It was impulse as Milliardo braced one arm against the bed, lifting Trowa with the other arm and throwing him on the bed, hovering over the boy as he stripped them both of their clothes, joining the newly repaired shirt on the ground, out of harm's way of the fire. It was desperation as they became frantic, grasping each other blindly, trying to get their mouths on every untouched patch of skin.  
  
He continued to bathe Trowa's chest, dragging his lower lip to the other nipple and nibbling softly, caressing the first with his thumb as Trowa's breath became ragged, hands still grasping golden hair that covered both their shoulders. Trowa swirled his tongue around the shell of an ear, the cold moisture contrasting his hot breath, causing the blonde to shudder violently.  
  
Taking advantage of the sudden surrender, Trowa twisted and coiled until he sitting upon Milliardo's stomach, straddling the blonde's surprisingly thin waist. Milliardo was surprised as to how the lithe boy had managed to do this; the surprise quickly turned to pleasure as he slid down Milliardo's body, their hardness pressing against each other firmly. Milliardo's breath caught in his throat as he looked up at Trowa's face, the boy's brow furrowed in pleasure and concentration as he slipped to the floor softly.  
  
Trowa didn't notice how his knees hurt as they rest against the hardwood floor, but rather the way these tired, brilliant eyes portrayed pure kindness and agreement as the older man propped himself on his elbows to look at the boy that now knelt before him. He gazed upon Trowa, who appeared more calm and beautiful than anything anyone could or attempt to paint.  
  
-----  
  
The courtroom was hot, muggy, and Heero felt like he could grab handfuls of the air. It was suffocating in his full suit, yet he did not dare complain. The judge and representatives of the state and the Church were debating his sentence.  
  
Several alibis had proven easily that Heero was not Judas DiAndretti's killer. However, his "recent indecent display" was causing quite the controversy, something that could have been avoided if he had not indulged in the drink that was soon consuming Catherine.  
  
Catherine. The press had asked about her numerous times before the court was in session. Heero had told every one of them that Catherine was indisposed and unable to attend the court, as was the distress of Mister DiAndretti's death so very hard on the poor girl. He got many sympathies for the girl who was now drinking herself to death, a luxury once thought by Catherine as reserved for the privileged was now at her advantage to abuse.  
  
Heero would lie with Catherine at night with his hand around her waist, stopping her from reaching towards the night table to pour a glass of gin in the middle of the night. It was if Catherine had realized that this reservation was now attainable, now hers, and she wanted it.  
  
She wanted it like the expensive clothes Heero would buy her. She wanted it like the pampering Sebastian provided. She wanted it like the money she'd find in Heero's room just lying around like the spare coins she'd make with Trowa for the gypsy train.  
  
Heero wondered if Catherine knew Trowa was gone.  
  
He wondered where Trowa was right now. Trowa was all he thought about. How the whole town knew what Trowa looked like, what associations he had with Heero, what kind of heresy he had committed. How seeing Trowa would be a risk in itself. How seeing Trowa may soon be an impossibility.  
  
"All rise."  
  
Heero shook his head quickly and stood, facing the judge as he entered the room again, followed by the state and Church representatives who stood to the side.  
  
The judge met Heero's gaze during the verdict, and immediately looked away, reading in a mechanical voice.  
  
"Heero Yuy," Judge Talduccio read. "By the order of the State, we hereby find the defendant, Mister Heero Yuy, not guilty of the murder of Mister Judas DiAndretti. By the order of the Church, whose witness is the The Almighty God and his son, Jesus Christ, our savior, the defendant has been reviewed and it has been affirmed that he has committed heresy against the Church, and will be sentenced to the confinement of his home and the Church for five years." Judge Talduccio placed the piece of paper aside and looked directly at Heero. "Your art, Mister Yuy, will be watched with the eyes of the  
  
Church at all times." The judge raised his gavel. "This courtroom is adjourned."  
  
The smack of the gavel reconfirmed Heero's fate. He would be painting for the Church.  
  
Milliardo's words remained in his mind...that whatever you do, you do for yourself...the only person you have to please is yourself...  
  
I cannot do anything for myself,Heero thought as he walked briskly out of the courtroom.  
  
-----  
  
Time had stopped as Trowa and Milliardo eyes were fixed on each other, Trowa gripping one of Milliardo's thighs in each hand as he knelt before him. Long blonde hair stuck to their bodies. The light from the fire flickered dimly, shadows dancing as Trowa's lips closed over the head of Milliardo's cock. His breath stopped, his eyes still staring hard at Trowa.  
  
Trowa stared back, the sheer attraction of his eyes too strong to resist as he pleasured the man before him, swirling his tongue quickly enough to be pleasurable, slowly enough to begin the night ahead of them. Trowa let his hand cup an entire thigh, pushing it towards Milliardo's chest and hooking it over his own shoulder as he began to suck, gently at first, then with incredible force, swallowing until coarse hairs tickled his nose and he felt fingers rest on the back of his neck. Milliardo thrust shallowly, their eyes still set on each other, the most difficult kind of intimacy, yet it was even more difficult to look away.  
  
Trowa pulled away slowly, lips parting as Milliardo's cock slid from his mouth, glistening with saliva and slick for a purpose. Milliardo understood as he lifted the boy from the ground to beside him on the bed, and he once again hovered over his body, kissing him with a force much like how they had begun.  
  
Milliardo entered Trowa, their eyes now permanently one with each other. Trowa felt the pain of being split apart, which was soon remedied by the other's patience as he showered the boy with apologetic kisses on the boy's forehead, cheeks, and lips. Trowa wrapped his legs around him, causing him to thrust deeper, eliciting a gasp from both. Milliardo pulled Trowa's legs over his shoulders and began to thrust, letting out a gasp of breath with each thrust.  
  
They alternated breaths, sometimes swallowing each other's as their lips mashed together frantically, their movements like liquid, simultaneous and mutually driven. Both had loved the same man, and both stayed away from the same man, turning to each other. Neither spoke, and everything was understood.  
  
Everything was understood.  
  
In a sweeping force, Milliardo lifted lean legs over his shoulders, changing the angle drastically and causing Trowa to cry out violently, the highest volume the room had encountered since they had begun to explore each other. He cried out continuously, repetitively, mouth agape and eyes wide open. Milliardo hooked his arms underneath Trowa's back to pull down on the boy's shoulders as he thrust deeply, his breath harsh and hot.  
  
Trowa brought his hands to rest on Milliardo's face, forcing their foreheads to meet, their eyes less than an inch away. With a final shout, Trowa climaxed, his muscles tightening, pressing his lips to Milliardo's as he breathed in loud, muffled cries. Milliardo thrust a final time into Trowa's taut chasm, a stifled grunt resonating with each shallow thrust that followed his climax.  
  
Milliardo collapsed onto the boy beneath him, their foreheads still touching as Milliardo's cheek hit the bed, their noses touching. He let the back of his hand trace Trowa's jaw line, his breath heaving, his hands surprisingly steady. Trowa cradled Milliardo's hand against his face, closing his eyes in thanks.  
  
Milliardo watched the boy as his breath evened out in sleep.  
  
- to be continued - 


End file.
